


Chains of Captivity

by Emerald_Heart12



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Akechi Goro Redemption, Akechi Goro and Sakura Futaba Are Half-Siblings, Amnesiac Akechi Goro, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Because I'm a sucker for that, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Heavy Angst, I didn't plan this but I'm not complaining, Kinda, Metaverse Shenanigans, Multi, Persona 5 Protagonist Has A Palace, Post-Canon, Rivals to Friends to Lovers, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Time Skips, akechi takes a while to show up don't @ me, like literally the whole game is spoiled don't even read if you're not done, shihoann! lots of shihoann, then it all just jumps right in, this turned out...angstier than I had planned o h, who put this okujima in here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2020-05-19 10:58:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19355650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerald_Heart12/pseuds/Emerald_Heart12
Summary: "Cognitions can't exist outside the Metaverse.""Then, pray tell, how am I here?"✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼A little over a year after defeating Yaldabaoth, Akira moves back into Tokyo for university. He'll finally be able to live a peaceful life with his friends, like a normal kid. In fact, it seems like all the Phantom Thieves drama two years ago was forgotten completely, along with his criminal record.Until the MetaNav appears on his phone again, bringing a long-forgotten soul with it.





	1. Reunite

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in P5 (and by extension, shuake) hell; send help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You have five new voicemails from [DELETED NUMBER]._

“You must be tired after today . . . Let’s go to sleep.”

“Yeah,” Akira nodded, getting into his bed. He’d just gotten back from an evening run, after having gotten accepted into Tokyo University. 

“So, we’ll be going back to Tokyo soon, huh . . .” Morgana mused. “I wonder if we’ll be able to see Lady Ann again—and Yusuke and Makoto and Haru and Futaba, too.”

“ _And_ Ryuji,” Akira added, ruffling Morgana’s fur. 

“. . . Yeah,” Morgana admitted. “Ryuji’s an idiot, but at least he’s entertaining.” 

Morgana received a light smack on the head for that one. 

Despite having been in contact with them through their Phantom Thieves group chat, Akira hadn’t yet told them he’d be coming back to Tokyo soon. _That_ , he had planned to leave a surprise (though he was about fifty percent sure Futaba already knew, somehow). 

“Say, do you know where you’re going to stay while you’re there? Boss hasn’t exactly offered Leblanc as a home for you this time,” Morgana pointed out. 

“Yeah, I’ll be at an apartment near Akihabara,” Akira said, scrolling through his messages. Ann had sent a selfie of her and Shiho to the chat, both of them smiling. 

 

 

> **_J0KER:_ ** _Good to see you guys doing well._
> 
> **_P4NTH3R:_ ** _Yeah! How’s it going for you, Akira?_
> 
> **_F0X:_ ** _That would interest me as well. If it were possible, I’d like for you to come to the art gallery with me._
> 
> **_F0X:_ ** _One of my pieces is to be displayed there._
> 
> **_SKU11:_ ** _Hey, you didn’t tell me about that!_
> 
> **_0R4CLE:_ ** _Me either, Inari!_
> 
> **_F0X:_ ** _Well, yes, because I only found out today myself._
> 
> **_QU33N:_ ** _Good luck, Yusuke._
> 
> **_J0KER:_ ** _Good luck seconded. Morgana says so too._
> 
> **_F0X:_ ** _Thank you all. I think I may soon be able to surpass Madarame, in fact._
> 
> **_F0X:_ ** _Then again, Madarame was nothing more than a cheat._
> 
> **_P4NTH3R:_ ** _You’ve already surpassed him, Yusuke!_
> 
> **_N01R:_ ** _I can’t wait to see it!_

 

“Looks like Yusuke’s doing pretty well,” Morgana commented. “You should probably go with him to see his piece, actually.”

Akira cracked a smile. “I was already planning on it.” He glanced at his suitcase, fully packed for his trip tomorrow, before drifting off to sleep. 

* * *

“Legally, the record says that the place was bought by someone, but we can’t seem to find who,” the landlady said, shaking her head. “The woman downstairs claims that there was someone living here about two years ago, but no one can remember anything about it. Anyhow, the place is yours now,” she remarked, tossing two sets of keys at him. 

“Thanks,” Akira mumbled, fumbling to catch it. 

Morgana peeked out from Akira’s bag. “Looks boring,” he commented. “Then again, your attic-room in Leblanc wasn’t much better. You’ve actually got a house this time.”

“Shush,” Akira just chided. “Leblanc was nice and always smelled like coffee. Plus, Boss’s curry was the best.”

“No arguments here! So, what’s our plan for today?”

“Visit Leblanc, and get everyone to Dome Town.”

“Wait, then when are you going to unpack?”

“I don’t see anything that needs unpacking,” Akira said, stuffing the suitcase in the closet. 

Morgana sighed in displeasure. “You know, Kawakami isn’t going to be there to help you out now. You’ll be starting university soon . . .”

Akira’s eyes widened. _Right, Ms Kawakami can help!_ Not thinking twice, he quickly scrolled through his contacts until he hit _Sadayo Kawakami._  

“ _. . . Hello?_ ”

“Hey, uh, sensei! It’s me, Akira Kurusu. It’s, uh, been a while.”

“ _Kurusu-kun?_ ” Kawakami was obviously surprised. “ _What’s with the sudden call? Didn’t you graduate high school recently?_ ”

“Yeah, I’m back in Tokyo for university. I’m going to Todai,” he said, and couldn’t help but feel a little proud for it. 

Kawakami obviously shared the sentiment. “ _That’s great, Kurusu-kun!_ "

“So, um, I’ve just moved in, and I was wondering if you’d still be willing to help me . . .”

“ _You_ still _can’t clean your own room?_ ” Kawakami sighed. “ _I’ll head over to Leblanc soon—_ ”

“Oh, I’m not living in Leblanc anymore,” Akira interrupted. He _definitely_ didn’t want Sojiro to wonder why Akira’s old teacher was outside his café dressed as a maid. Quickly, Akira rattled off his new address to Kawakami, who assured she’d be there soon (though not without a hefty sigh).

“You’ve grown,” she commented when she reached. 

Akira shrugged sheepishly and nodded, just as Morgana poked his head out from his bag. 

“Oh, you still have your cat, too.” She turned to Morgana, petting his head lightly. “Well, you two go have fun. I’ll take care of things here.”

“Thanks, sensei.” Akira ducked out of the door. 

“First stop, Leblanc!” Morgana cheered. “Aw man, Boss’ll be _so_ surprised to see us.” 

Akira and Morgana snickered simultaneously. 

 

> **_Sadayo Kawakami:_ ** _Did you seriously hide your suitcase in your closet?!_

 

Akira surreptitiously switched his phone off as he got on the train. 

* * *

“Ah, I missed this place,” Akira mumbled as he finally stepped back into Yongen-Jaya’s backstreets, just as Morgana hummed in agreement. 

Akira made his way through the alleys he knew better than the back of his hand, and pushed through Leblanc’s door. 

To his surprise, the entire gang was gathered there—Ryuji and Ann were arguing over something at a table, Futaba was bugging Yusuke and Makoto about something, and Haru and Sojiro were watching it over it all with a cup of coffee in hand.

“So, you guys really don’t change, huh?” Morgana commented loudly, drawing everyone’s attention. 

“ _YOU’RE BACK!_ ” 

“Duuude, why didn’t you tell us you were coming back to Tokyo?” Ryuji jumped up from his seat, immediately pulling Akira into a headlock. 

“It’s great to have you back, Akira,” Makoto smiled welcomingly. 

“Yooooooooo, Mona!” Futaba snatched Morgana from Akira’s bag, ruffling the cat’s fur excitedly, then doing the same to Akira’s hair (to which Akira tried to protest, but Futaba brushed it off with _"_ _Your hair’s always messy anyway"_ ).

“Looks like we won’t need to meet up at Dome Town!” Morgana put in after everyone had their fair share of harassing Akira about not telling them sooner. 

“So,” Sojiro cut in once Akira was lying face down on the ground, “what are you doing in Tokyo anyway?”

“Trrdrai,” Akira mumbled into the floor. 

“Huh?”

“He’s going to Todai when university starts,” Morgana translated. Akira nodded from his place on the floor. 

“Whaaat, you got admitted into _Todai_? Dude, that’s effin’ _nuts_!”

“That’s quite impressive,” Yusuke agreed. 

“Looks like we’ll be seeing each other often,” Makoto appraised. “Feel free to ask me if you need anything there.” Of course, Makoto had applied for Todai last year, and had gotten in. 

“How’d you even get _in_?” Ann questioned. 

Akira lifted his face for a mere second to say, “I maxed out my knowledge stat,” then planted his face right back onto the hardwood floor. 

Futaba snickered, then said, “Get up, you dumbass.”

“Futaba, language!” Haru protested. 

“But he _is_ a dumbass.”

“Damn, wasn’t expecting that from _Ann_ ,” Ryuji snorted.

“The dumbass who made it into Todai,” Makoto mused. “Not surprising at all, in fact.”

Akira rotated his face marginally to meet eyes with Makoto, and shot her the biggest look of betrayal he could muster. 

The world shifted under Akira, and he suddenly found himself thrown over Yusuke’s shoulder. “Stop being foolish and sit up,” he just said, dumping Akira on one of the stools. 

“So,” Haru changed the subject, “have you met anyone else since you’ve gotten back?”

“Only Kawakami,” Akira admitted. “Then I came straight here.”

“F in the chat,” Futaba muttered. 

“F,” Ryuji, Ann, and Morgana echoed simultaneously. 

“G,” Yusuke said, clueless. 

_Yep_ , Akira mused, echoing Morgana’s earlier thoughts, _they really don’t change._  

“Hey,” Futaba asked, once Makoto, Yusuke, and Ann had left, and Morgana had fallen asleep, “where are you going to be living now that you’re not staying in Leblanc anymore?”

“Somewhere around Akihabara,” Akira answered nonchalantly. “I can still buy you your video games, so don’t worry,” he smiled, ruffling her hair. “I’ll probably spend a lot of time in Leblanc if Boss decides I can work here part time. You’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”

“Oi, leave my hair alone!” Futaba threw her arms up to shield herself. Akira grinned, just ruffling her hair harder. 

“You look like a half-peeled carrot,” Ryuji snorted. 

“Shut up, Skeleton.”

“ _Skull_ ,” Ryuji objected. “And anyway, since when did you guys become actual siblings?”

“Oh,” Futaba paused, thoughtfully. “Well, this guy decided to help me out once during a trip to Akihabara when you guys were helping me regain my footing with the outside world. I got lost in the middle of an electronics store but Akira found me and helped me out.” 

Akira couldn’t help but smile at the memory of Futaba ducking behind his leg when hiding from that police officer. “But you can do it now, right?”

“Yep!” Futaba cheered, popping the ‘p’. “I guess that means I’ve finally completed my promise list, for real this time.” 

“And I’m proud of you,” Akira said, dropping something into Futaba’s hands. 

“A limited-edition Feather Parakeet action figure!”

“Mhmm, there’s your reward for completing all your promises.” 

Futaba gently placed the figurine down on the counter, only to more or less pounce on Akira with a hug. “HEY, SOJIRO!” she yelled, only then capturing Boss’s attention. “Can you adopt Akira again?”

“ _What?_ ” 

Ryuji burst into laughter at Sojiro’s confusion. “He got her some action figure she likes,” he explained, practically clutching his sides with glee. 

“It would be quite fun to have you around again,” Haru said softly. 

“I’m just in Akihabara, though! You even _go_ there a lot!” Akira protested. 

“Still . . . it’s not the same as Leblanc,” Haru murmured. 

“. . . yeah, but the guy lived in the literal _attic_ ,” Ryuji pointed out, his amusement at Futaba’s expense having finally died down. 

“Well, at least stay in Yongen!” Futaba insisted. 

 

> **_Sadayo Kawakami:_ ** _I can’t watch your house forever, you know._

 

“Oops,” Akira muttered, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “I gotta go, see you guys soon!”

* * *

Sleeping that night was, unfortunately, proving to be hard for Akira, even once he’d spoken to some of his other friends (namely, Mishima—well, _Yuuki_ now—and Hifumi).

A quick glance at Morgana told Akira that the cat was asleep, so he picked up his phone. _Fifty-six notifications . . . ?_ Akira sighed, clearing them out, until he was down to just the last ones. 

 

> **_You have five voicemails from [DELETED NUMBER]._ **

 

Akira frowned, but tapped on the notification anyway. 

It was silent for the first few seconds. Then, “ _I’m surprised Sae-san hasn’t shut down the number yet . . . she did say the phone was shut down, since he’s dead. Odd._ ” 

Somehow, the voice seemed achingly familiar—enough so to drive a spike of emotion into Akira. _Guilt . . . grief?_ Akira couldn’t quite place it. 

A sigh. “ _I must say, it feels strange to leave a voicemail when I know there’s no one who’s ever going to listen to it. Especially since it’ll be deleted in a month or so._ ”

Akira checked the timestamp of the call—November 21st, two years ago. 

“ _Oh, well. A shame you won’t hear this, Joker . . . Akira Kurusu. There are . . . admittedly, a lot of questions I’d have liked to ask you._ ”

Somewhere, a vague memory of a feigned soft smile and honeyed eyes that swirled with secrets came to mind. 

“ _For the longest time, you intrigued me. The boy who went to Shujin and lived in a coffeeshop . . . who had a record, but still pursued his own foolish justice anyway._ ”

Sunlight filtering through the windows of Leblanc, reflecting off long bronze hair as a boy slowly stirred his coffee. 

“ _Ha, it’s funny that I can only be honest with you now that you’re dead. Then again, isn’t that always the case with you and me? Though two sides of a coin we may be, it’s still the same coin, isn’t it? The same value, made from the same metal, pressed with the same mould._ ”

Late evening chess games and cups of coffee with extra cream and sugar. Musings that went past closing time, cases that were solved together by similar minds. 

“ _I really have to say, working with you was fun, Joker. The most I’ve ever had, I think._ ”

An easy smile below the red mask of a proud tengu, casual baton passes between red and white gloves. 

“ _Perhaps . . . in another world, things could have been different. Maybe we would have been friends. It’s only too bad you had to die. It would have been interesting had there been another way._ ”

A shattered black mask that hid eyes that swirled with genuine remorse, agonised screams to a Persona that was contracted only to kill. 

“ _Ha ha . . . I don’t know why I’m entertaining the thought after I shot you in the head. Yet . . . something still makes me think I’ll see you there, making coffee behind the counter of Leblanc if I just stop by._ ”

The voicemail ended, and Akira realised then that he’d forgotten all about Goro Akechi. 

 

> **_J0KER:_ ** _I wonder what Akechi would think if he saw us now . . ._
> 
> **_J0KER:_ ** _It’s weird that I forgot about him until now, isn’t it?_
> 
> **_SKU11:_ ** _Dude, who’s Akechi???_
> 
> **_0R4CLE:_ ** _Maybe one of his friends from his hometown? I dunno._
> 
> **_J0KER:_ ** _Guys, Goro Akechi?? Crow???_
> 
> **_J0KER:_ ** _The Second Advent of the Detective Prince?????_
> 
> **_J0KER:_ ** _The guy who pretended to join us but was working with Shido and got shot by Shido’s cognitive version of him???_
> 
> **_QU33N:_ ** _Akira . . . you’re probably pretty tired if you’re coming up with something that outlandish. It’s late, you should sleep._
> 
> **_J0KER:_ ** _I can’t believe you guys don’t remember._
> 
> **_J0KER:_ ** _The black mask! The one who carried out the mental shutdowns on Shido’s command!_
> 
> **_QU33N:_ ** _Sleep, Akira. The black mask was never caught. They just disappeared when we changed Shido’s heart. Your mind is making things up._
> 
>  

_Why can’t anyone remember?_ Akira grabbed at his hair, agitated. _Something’s wrong. No one else was forgotten. And it’s like Akechi never existed at all to_ anyone _. . ._ “Morgana,” Akira mumbled, noting that the cat had woken up, “what happens when someone dies in the Metaverse?”

Morgana didn’t meet Akira’s eyes. “Why do you ask?”

_Morgana too, huh?_ “Just curious. I was wondering what would have happened if we didn’t make it out of a boss fight,” he lied. 

Morgana winced, but nodded all the same. “When a person dies in the Metaverse . . . they’re erased from everyone’s cognitions altogether,” Morgana said, and each word was an added weight on Akira’s heart. 

* * *

 

For the first time in over a year, Akira found himself in the Velvet Room. Thank goodness he wasn’t chained, but somehow, as Lavenza and Igor shared a glance, something churned in his stomach, and he knew it wasn’t the cup noodles he’d had for dinner. 

“Welcome back, my Trickster,” Lavenza smiled.

Akira blinked. Of course, he was thrilled to see Lavenza again after so long (as much as he _did_ miss the quarrelling twin wardens) but the question permeated the air: _Why_ was he in the Velvet Room in the first place? 

“You must be curious about your arrival here,” Igor said, as though reading his mind. “But that is something we ourselves are not too sure of. After defeating the false god Yaldabaoth, the Metaverse itself was supposed to disappear . . .”

“But,” Lavenza chipped in, “it appears that that has not been the case. As human cognition rebuilds, the Metaverse begins to take shape again.”

“However,” Igor picked up where Lavenza left off. “This newly formed Metaverse may not be the same as the former one. The Sea of Souls has left many to wander through the depths of cognition. You may meet with . . . unprecedented setbacks.”

Akira hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Such as what?” 

“That is something we are not too sure of ourselves, Trickster. As before, you must recall the strength of your bonds, and allow your friends to aid you on your journey -- ”

“But _why_?” Akira interrupted, getting more and more confused. “Why do we need to go back into the Metaverse? Why bring the Phantom Thieves back if there’s no need for rehabilitation or if there’s no ruin? We defeated Yaldabaoth!” Akira’s voice had risen to a shout at this point, and he could feel the words grating in his throat, his voice hoarse. 

“Trickster, please retain your calm,” Lavenza chided. “The rehabilitation this time is not yours.”

“Then . . . who . . . ?” Akira asked, but he could already feel himself drifting away from the Velvet Room, waking up in his bed. 

* * *

Akira spent the rest of his night listening to the remaining voicemails. 

 

> **_November 23 rd _ <1 voicemail> Play | Delete_ _**

__

Akira tapped play.

Akechi’s voice was harsh. “ _Ridiculous. Once again I find myself calling your number by force of habit. Sometimes I find the old chat log on it—which, by the way, your fellow Phantom Thieves kicked me out of. Reasonable, yes, considering my betr — my involvement with the police over your group is obvious now. _

“ _So you know, I’m not sure what they told you when they had you locked up in that room, but I haven’t revealed any of the others’ identities to the police._ ”

Akira knew. Sae had made as much obvious during that god-awful interrogation, but he still wanted to know _why_. Why hadn’t Akechi outed the others and taken credit for the entire takedown of the Phantom Thieves? If what he’d said at Shido’s Palace was any indication, he’d wanted the credit for the arrest so that he could be appreciated by the public. 

Akira wondered dryly how much it would have hurt Akechi to know that after everything, he’d just been forgotten. 

“ _You’d probably ask me why if you could_ ,” Akechi said, as if on cue. “ _I . . . I don’t know, myself._ ” A pause. “ _No. I think . . . I think I do know, but if I say it out loud . . . if I admit it . . . damn it._ ”

The voicemail ended. _He knew_ , Akira thought, somehow unsettled. Akechi had known that he cared for the Phantom Thieves, as they had all come to learn on Shido’s ship, but at this point, if he remembered correctly, there was no way Akechi would admit it. 

If only for the sake of not losing his conviction. 

Akira wanted to talk to his friends about it. He really, _really_ did—but they didn’t remember. They wouldn’t remember. 

It was just Akira. 

“I’m all alone in a cage of my own memories,” he whispered to himself, just as he drifted off again, into a dreamless slumber.

* * *

“Psst, Akira, wake up!”

Akira blinked slowly, ready to attack Morgana with his pillow -- 

Only to see Haru looming above him. 

What the hell?

. . . and the rest of the Phantom Thieves, apparently. 

_Okay, seriously, what the hell._

“Dude,” Ryuji said, completely somber, “the Metaverse is back.”

That was definitely _not_ news to Akira. What he wanted to know was why and how his friends had broken into his apartment at—he glanced at his clock—seven in the morning. 

“Ryuji, aren’t you normally in another dimension at this time?” he grumbled, burying his face into his pillow. 

“Akira, please, you’ll suffocate,” Makoto said clinically, then proceeded to yank the pillow out of his grasp. 

“You seem remarkably unsurprised,” Yusuke comments. 

“No shit,” Akira just grumbles. “I was in the Velvet Room again. Lavenza and Igor said the same thing but wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“. . . we can go in, right?” Futaba asked, apparently having already opened the MetaNav. 

“Akira Kurusu, _get your ass awake_ ,” Ann said, pulling Akira off his bed with his arm, and he landed on the floor with a loud _thunk_. 

“ _Candidate found._ ”

Several simultaneous _what_ s rang through the room. 

“Dude . . .”

“You have . . .”

“A _Palace_?”

Well, that settled it: Akira was screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't really have an idea for how frequent this is gonna update? Well, either way, I hope you enjoy~


	2. Lock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And with that, the Gentlemanly Thief slipped away into the dark, unnoticed. Unremembered._

The room was uncomfortably quiet after that. No one knew what to say—instead, everyone else shared a glance that seemed to communicate volumes. 

Loath as he was to admit it, Akira hated it. Hated the gap that had built between him and his best friends in the course of just a year. It only served to make him feel left out. Alone. 

And now, _of course_ he had to have a Palace, the very moment the Metaverse came back. It was like the universe seemed to enjoy playing sick jokes on him. 

At least before, he could have blamed it on Yaldabaoth, but this wasn’t even because of that. 

Scowling, he sat up. “Why me?” he grumbled under his breath, morning grouchiness not helping him at all. He didn’t care. 

Haru stepped closer almost _nervously_ —as if she wasn’t sure if it was safe to approach him; like he was _dangerous_ now. “Akira . . .” she mumbled, probably remembering her father’s Palace. 

 _I’m not like that_ , Akira wanted to tell her. 

“We are . . . going to change your heart, right?” Yusuke asked tentatively. 

Futaba, perhaps the only one who could be sympathetic in the situation they were in, stepped up. “Hey, having a Palace doesn’t make him _evil_ ,” she snapped, looking at the others in a way that was almost disappointed. “ _I_ had one too, remember?” Abashed, everyone else (with the exception of Haru, who hadn’t known) looked away. 

Akira was grateful to Futaba for being the only one to defend him, but he wasn’t sure he wanted anyone in his Palace—himself included. And Futaba had _wanted_ hers gone. Had been okay with them going into hers. 

There seemed to be some unseen agreement between the others— _Morgana_ included, Akira realised, heart sinking—when Makoto spoke. “Look, we can understand if you’re not ready to deal with this yet, Akira. But having a Palace means your view of the world is distorted, and that _isn’t_ good for you. We’re your friends, and we’re here for you, okay?”

“I . . . I don’t want to go inside my heart,” Akira admitted, throat dry and voice raspy. 

Futaba nodded knowingly, and Ann asked, “Do you want us to not go in either?”

Akira nodded slowly. “Please,” he whispered. 

The others shared a look— _could they stop doing that, leaving him out?_ —and Ryuji sighted, looking at Akira in the eye. “We need to help you get rid of that distortion, man,” he said slowly, cautiously, _as unlike Ryuji as possible_ , “so even if you don’t want us going into your Palace, you gotta let us try to help you however we can.”

The others all seemed to nod in agreement, and Morgana leapt back onto Akira’s bed. “So, who’s up for a Mementos raid?”

“Can Akira enter the Metaverse if he has a Palace?” Ann asked. 

“I was able to enter my own Palace,” Futaba pointed out. 

“Yeah, but it crumbled literally ten minutes after you did,” Ryuji pointed out. 

Morgana shook his head, his tail flicking. “It should be fine. Futaba’s Palace only crumbled because she was able to face her distortions and clear her heart. Mementos won’t be a problem!”

“Then let’s go,” Makoto said, standing up. 

“‘Mementos’,” Yusuke said clearly into the MetaNav, and the world dissolved into familiar ripples around them. 

* * *

The new Mementos was unfamiliar. Instead of the dark train station that had seemed alive, warped and trailing one hallway after another, this . . . this looked like Shibuya Square, just as how it had once looked when Mementos had merged with the real world. 

It sent a shiver down Akira’s spine, just remembering all his friends, himself included, turning to dust. He shivered. 

And it was then that he realised he wasn’t decked out in his Phantom Thief suit, but his pyjamas and socks. 

“ _Arsène_ ,” he tried summoning, then, “ah, right . . . _Satanael_!”

There was no response. 

“ _Nigi Mitama_?” Nothing. He tried a few more of the Personas he’d formed contracts with, but to no avail.

Of course. If someone had a distortion, they couldn’t have a Persona, not without the spirit of rebellion that was a prerequisite for it. 

He could feel the others looking at him in pity. He didn’t _want_ their pity. He wanted . . . he wanted to be on the same page as them. He wanted to be a _part_ of their shared glances and unspoken conversations. 

Was this how Akechi had felt when he’d joined the Phantoms? Confused, left out, knowing there was something going on that he wasn’t a part of? 

Then again, Akechi hadn’t _lost_ that closeness—he’d never had it in the first place. 

Guilt surged in Akira again, alongside the hollow feeling of this newfound loneliness. 

“Perhaps it would be possible for him to be able to find another Persona here in Mementos?” Fox asked. 

“That’s how I got mine,” Noir agreed. “Though Milady wasn’t at her full strength at the time . . .”

Queen seemed thoughtful. “But you can’t get a Persona without the spirit of rebellion. As much as it would be great to have Joker back in the ranks, without a Persona, or with a weak one, it wouldn’t be possible. And if he’s got the level of distortion that can surmount to a Palace, he won’t be able to get one until he faces his distortion.” 

Akira bit his lip. Queen was right, of course, but the blunt rejection stung. “Mishima,” he mumbled. 

“Huh?”

“Mishima was able to change his own heart,” he said. “He’d had a Shadow, right? But we were able to talk his Shadow into changing himself,” Akira clarified. 

“But that’s only ’cause you were _able_ to talk to his Shadow,” Skull mumbled. 

“Maybe it’s best you stay here,” Queen said softly, dismissing him from the party that would head in. _Makoto would make a great leader_ , he thought numbly. _Queen could definitely fill the shoes of the Phantom Thieves’ Leader well._  

Queen could replace him. She may not have had the charisma or confidence that _Joker_ had—but then again, Akira wasn’t Joker anymore, was he? 

He was an outcast now. 

Akira swallowed the rising feeling of contempt that bubbled in his throat as Seiten let loose a Ziodyne in the distance. 

“Akira . . .” Ann— _Panther_ —said softly from beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m fine,” Akira managed to bite out. He couldn’t let himself start hating his friends just because of envy that he wasn’t close to them as he used to be. 

Yet the jealousy still bubbled. Why couldn’t _he_ be the one they depended on anymore? Now that their problems were solved, did they just . . . not need him anymore? 

Could the blood oaths they’d made stop mattering just like that? 

Now that he wasn’t _Joker_ , that he didn’t have a Persona, that he wasn’t their _leader_ anymore . . . was he useless?

He knew it was wrong to want them to depend solely on him, but with just a year of distance, it seemed like they’d already formed another group that he wasn’t a part of. 

No, that wasn’t right. He felt like he’d been kicked out of his own group. 

He felt Panther’s presence beside him fade as she was switched out with Fox. 

And he was alone again. He was caged up again, locked away under the guise of needing to be protected.  

* * *

 

By the time everyone got back, Akira was the only one with any energy left. 

“I can still fight without a Persona,” he said softly when they were all back in his house. “I just need a gun, Iwai probably wouldn’t mind.”

No one seemed to hear him—they were all either asleep on his bed or too tired to be paying attention. Akira swallowed thickly, put on a coat, and slipped unnoticed into the Tokyo dusk. 

It wasn’t long before he reached Untouchable, the neon sign lit up in the evening, and he stepped inside. 

“S’been a while, kid . . . Akira,” Iwai grinned, welcoming Akira in. Kaoru seemed to be inside, too. 

Finally, for the first time since last night, an easy smile made its way to Akira’s face. “I’m back for university,” he said by means of explanation. 

Kaoru brightened. “Where are you going to be studying?”

“Tokyo University,” Akira said, grinning as he sat down next to his friend. “The big Todai.”

“Guess I’ll be seeing you around, then!” Kaoru reached out for a high five, which Akira returned. 

_—somewhere, in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help feeling that Untouchable was like a safe room in a Palace, where no one would attack him and he wouldn’t be alone—_

“Say, kid, how would ya like to join me and Kaoru for dinner?” Iwai asked. “We can go to the diner in Shibuya to celebrate you comin’ back to Tokyo.”

“Yes, please,” Akira said, nodding emphatically, and Iwai grinned, laying a hand on Akira’s and Kaoru’s heads, ruffling the boys’ hair. 

* * *

Back in Akira’s apartment, the Phantom Thieves were waking up, having shaken off the exhaustion from their journey into Mementos. 

“Gotta say, the new Mementos is pretty sweet!” Ryuji declared, pumping his fist. “Don’tcha think, Akira?”

The following silence was enough to get everyone on high alert mode. “Akira?”

“Where . . . where could he have gone? He definitely came back from Mementos with us,” Haru murmured, to which Ann and Morgana nodded. “His glasses are still beside his bed, too . . .”

”I can’t believe we didn’t notice him leave,” Yusuke said quietly. “I’d noticed he’d felt oddly aloof when we were in Mementos, but I didn’t think too much of it.”

“I could tell, too,” Ann murmured. “Do you think it’s because of the Palace?”

Futaba shook her head. “Nuh-uh. The distortion itself doesn’t affect a person's behaviour so much as it sustains it. So . . .” Futaba’s face fell as she said, “that means that he’s been feeling like he has for a while.”

“Feeling _what_ , though? What could have pushed him to the point where he doesn’t want to talk to us about it—or, talk to us . . . _at all_. We’re . . .” A flash of hurt crossed Makoto’s face. “We’re his _friends_.” A pause. “Morgana, you’ve been with him the whole year; is there anything that you think was different?”

Morgana shook his head, tail swaying slightly. “No . . . he’s been the same since we left Tokyo and came back.” Morgana’s ears drooped, then pricked up, alert. “Last night,” he said, eyes widening, “he mentioned something about dying in the Metaverse, though . . .”

Yusuke pressed his lips together. “The app didn’t appear on my phone until this morning, though,” he said. “Why would Akira need to know about that before we had access to the Metaverse?”

Makoto raised a hand to her chin, tapping her cheek in thought. “Last night, he talked about someone called . . . Goro Akechi, I think, on the group chat. He said that this person was the Black Mask . . . And it seemed like he’d expected us to know, too.”

Haru shook her head. “I don’t remember anyone called Akechi,” she said quietly, and the others nodded or hummed in agreement. 

Futaba was already scrolling through the chat log. “Apparently he’d forgotten until last night, though. He also made it sound a lot like this Akechi knew about the Phantom Thieves but was working with Shido . . . and then Shido had him killed.”

Ryuji blinked, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it, though. We’d remember something like that if it happened. Maybe his memories are effed up because of the Palace, like Futaba’s were?”

“That would make sense . . .” Ann bit her lip. “But Akira had that . . . wildcard thing, right? Do you think that’s why . . . ?”

Morgana shook his head. “The wildcard only lets a person hold multiple Personas,” he said, ears flattening as he recalled Akira’s question to him the previous night: _What happens when someone dies in the Metaverse?_ Morgana hadn’t been aware why Akira’d asked at first . . . but if what the others were saying was true, there was a chance that this . . . _Akechi_ person had, in fact, existed and had just been erased from their cognitions. 

But then again, Morgana was a creature of the Metaverse himself; surely _he_ couldn’t have been affected by the change . . . but if he had . . .

Morgana shuddered at the thought—he hated the idea of not knowing something that he should have. _I haven’t been affected; it’s the Palace that’s making Akira recall something different_ , Morgana thought decidedly, pushing the possibility out of his head. 

Haru cleared her throat. “I’ve sent a message to him asking about where he is, but he’s left me on read . . .” 

“He left _Haru_ on read?” Ryuji exclaimed incredulously—if there was anything Akira was known for, it was for checking his messages, and even if he couldn’t answer immediately, he’d _never_ left any of them on read before, let alone Haru, whom he’d always tried to make sure felt safe with the Phantom Thieves after what had happened to Okumura. 

Ann shook her head. “You know . . . I can’t help but feel like he’s distanced himself from us a little. If he won’t talk to us . . . how is he going to get rid of the distortion?”

“Fighting . . . a distortion on your own is hard,” Futaba said quietly. “It messes with your mind and makes you believe things that were never true. It can even make you hate and distrust the people closest to you . . .” 

The atmosphere in the room was heavy. Even when Akira hadn’t been there with them, he’d always been a staple in their lives. He’d been the one to draw them together, and he was the one who’d helped them to regain their footing in their own hearts. 

Akira hating them would be a huge blow to them all. 

“Then . . . we should change it, right?” Haru asked. 

“But we promised him we wouldn’t go into his Palace . . . wouldn’t we be betraying his trust if we went anyway?” Yusuke’s eyes were downcast. “It feels like a breach of his privacy.”

“Besides, we don’t even know what his keywords are,” Morgana added. 

“So we’re going to just let those distortions take him over?” Makoto argued. “After all he’s done for us, we’re going to let him suffer because we told him we wouldn’t interfere?”

“Mako-chan . . .” Haru tried, not really sure how to feel. She herself owed Akira a lot—all the shares of her father’s company she’d taken care of and the coffee line she’d managed to secure for Okumura foods was because he’d been there for her; he’d talked to her; he’d confided in her. If Akira started hating her . . . she didn’t think she’d be able to get over that, not with how valuable a friend he was to her. 

Ryuji shook his head. “Akira’s my best bud. I ain’t gonna let him hurt when there’s something I can do about it. Not after all he’s done for me.”

“But it’s not right to go in after he told us not to,” Ann protested. 

“Especially with how private a Palace is,” Futaba added, face sombre. “I won’t go in until he’s okay with it.”

“Haru?” 

Haru shook her head. “I don’t know,” she whispered softly. 

“So that’s two for, three against, and two neutral,” Morgana said. “But . . .” Morgana’s expression was solemn (as it could be, for a cat) as he looked each member of the Phantom Thieves in the eye, then continued, “I still think we should at least figure out his keywords, so we can at least understand what could be affecting him.”

Yusuke nodded. “Let’s bring the Nav out, just in case we accidentally say the right thing, like Ryuji did with Kaneshiro.”

“Got it,” Makoto nodded, getting her phone out and activating the MetaNav. “Akira Kurusu.”

“ _Candidate found._ ”

The room seemed to darken immediately. 

“It’ll be easier to start with the ‘where’ rather than the ‘what’,” Ryuji declared. “So . . . what does Akira see, y’know, distortedly?” 

“It . . . would be troublesome if it was somewhere in his hometown,” Makoto mused. “Then again, it would be unlikely if what Morgana said was true, about him being the same until yesterday.”

“But a Palace can’t exactly form in a day . . .” 

“But wouldn’t he be calmer if he’d left the source of distortion?”

“Akira Kurusu’s house,” Makoto said into the MetaNav. 

“ _No candidates found._ ”

“Leblanc?” Futaba suggested. 

“ _No candidates—_ ”

“Shibuya?”

“ _No candidates—_ ”

“Shujin?”

“ _No candidates found._ ”

“What else could it be, then?”

“It has to be somewhere he’s been since he’s come back . . .”

“But he’s been back for less than two days,” Haru interjected. “Isn’t it possible that the Palace formed here while he was gone?”

Morgana hummed in thought. “It’s not impossible,” he said, “so I’m guessing that’s what actually happened.”

“Could it be the Metaverse that he sees distortedly, since he doesn’t have his Persona anymore?”

“That can’t be right, since the Metaverse _itself_ is cognitive.” Futaba shook her head, just as her phone began to play the _Featherman_ theme song. “Ah, that’s Sojiro . . .” Quickly answering it, she rushedly explained that she’d be back soon and that _no, Sojiro, she was with the Thieves, not a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, for that matter_. “I gotta go,” she said, picking up her bag from where she’d dumped it at the empty desk in Akira’s living room. 

Before she left, she added, “But it could be anywhere throughout Tokyo, so we should . . . keep trying.”

“ _Candidate found._ ”

“Huh? What’d I say?”

Makoto looked at the Nav. “His Palace is . . . throughout Tokyo?”

“That’s even bigger than Kaneshiro’s . . .”

“At least it’s smaller than Shido’s distortion,” Haru offered consolingly. 

“It’s still effin’ _messed up_ that he sees all of Tokyo distorted.”

“And _that’s why_ we should try and _help_ him,” Makoto said blithely, but her words were sharp. 

“It would be cruel to do so after told him we wouldn’t.” Yusuke crossed his arms, staring Makoto down. 

“I’m . . . going now,” Futaba interrupted, and the tension in the room slowly dissolved. 

“I think we should all call it a night,” Ann agreed, picking up her handbag. “I have a shoot tomorrow, too.”

With that, everyone took their things and left, leaving Morgana alone in the room. The cat sighed, pawing Akira’s pillow. “Why won’t he talk to me?” he whispered, hurt. “Doesn’t he trust me?”

* * *

“Sojiroooo, I hunger!” Futaba called out, patting her stomach as she entered Leblanc. “Gimme curry,” she demanded, seating herself on the barstool in front of the counter. 

Sojiro chuckled, placing a plate of curry and rice in front of Futaba. “You’ve been in better spirits since yesterday. Isn’t it because Akira’s back?”

“Yep,” Futaba grinned, popping the ‘p’. “But him not being in Leblanc is weird, honestly.”

Sojiro sighed. “You’re right . . . I’d have offered if I knew he was coming—probably—but it’s probably for the best that he has a proper house one.” A pause. “But I’ll miss having him help out around here.”

“It’s your excuse for free labour,” Futaba snorted. 

Sojiro just chuckled. “He _did_ get pretty good at making coffee, though. And he’s a good kid. Doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body.”

Futaba felt her face fall as she recalled Akira leaving without a word. “Yeah . . .” _But he somehow has a Palace . . ._ “Say, Sojiro, do you still have his probation diary?”

Sojiro seemed a little thrown off, but still nodded. “Yeah, they gave it back when he was taken off probation . . . does he need it again?” 

 _There’s a chance Sojiro won’t give it to me if I just say I wanted to look through it . . ._ “Y-yeah, he asked me to pick it up for him,” she lied. 

“Oh, alright, then. Guess it’s not bad to look back every now and again,” Sojiro said thoughtfully. “Actually, reminds me, I wonder if the kid got himself a girlfriend while he was there. Looks like he’s on his phone a lot more than before.” Sojiro looked at his phone. “He’s online now, too. I’d always thought he was talking to you guys.”

Futaba shook her head as she cast a glance at her phone. There were a couple messages from Ryuji about Featherman, from Makoto and Haru about making sure to eat dinner on time, and from Yusuke about using her figures as posing dolls— _hell no, Inari_ —but not a single one from Akira. 

He still hadn’t replied to the group chat. 

 

> **Akibro Kurusuwu**
> 
> **Yo**
> 
> **I know youre online**
> 
> **I can literally SEE the green dot** **  
> ** **next to your name**
> 
> **If you don’t respond ill hack** **  
> ** **ur damn phone**

 

Nothing. Then, the green dot disappeared. 

Futaba scowled at Akira’s contact, and a few quick taps later, she found out that he’d just switched his status to offline and was still, in fact, online. 

She wasn’t above growling at the screen for it. 

 

 

> **Akibro Kurusuwu**
> 
> **Wow r00d**
> 
> **Yknow you walked out on us** **  
> ** **before offering us dinner**

 

Unfortunately, still no response, even as the _read_ icon lit up. There were no dots to indicate he was typing, no indication that he’d even seen it apart from the tick mark that showed he’d read the message. 

A short sense of smugness ran through her— _can’t beat that system, huh_ —but she put her phone down. Obviously, he wasn’t going to respond no matter what she said. 

Futaba looked up, and Sojiro was standing behind the counter, holding out a pocket-sized notebook. “Here. Tell him he’s done good, by the way, alright?”

“Okay!” Futaba agreed, grabbing the notebook and her phone, and dashed out of Leblanc. _I’m gonna help him no matter what_ , she thought decidedly. 

A twinge of guilt ran through her when she picked up the probation diary, but she shook her head. _If it was meant for the police to see, there won’t be anything he’d prefer to keep personal in here. It’s fine._ And with that, she began to read. 

* * *

Meanwhile, in a place between dream and reality, a man with a long hooked nose and wide eyes smiled. “Welcome to my Velvet Room.”

The inhabitant blinked, taking in the surroundings. “I’m in . . . a television studio?”

“This room exists in a place between dream and reality, mind and matter. Its appearance reflects the state of your heart.”

“So you’re saying I think of myself as a performer of sorts, then? An actor?”

A grin stretched across the man’s face. “That is exactly what I am suggesting . . . Goro Akechi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> akira: they all hate me D:  
> akira: they don't want me anymore i should go *leaves*  
> phantoms: we gotta help him!!1!  
> phantoms:  
> phantoms: where'd he go
> 
> ANYway, stay tuned!


	3. Shatter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Who am I? Why am I here?_
> 
>  
> 
> _You don't exist anymore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, an update at last! itsbeen84years.gif

“Goro Akechi . . .” He said the name aloud, testing it. “My name, I’m assuming.”

The man with the hooked nose grinned. Rather, his constant grin seemed to widen, if only marginally. “Indeed. You catch on quickly, Trickster.”

The inhabitant of the room— _Goro_ —stared blankly at the man through the glass pane. “So you seem to be aware of the fact that I don’t seem to have any memory of how I got here or who I am. Not to mention, who you are.”

The man looked amused as he introduced himself. “I am Igor, and as I said, this is my Velvet Room.”

Goro noted internally that there didn’t seem to be much velvet around him—just a dimly lit, blue-tinted recording room, outside which Igor sat. _It’s just named that, then._  

A little tired of seeing nothing but a camera, microphone, and greenscreen, Goro looked towards the door—

Only to see that there was no knob. He frowned slightly. “How do I leave this room?”

“You cannot,” a new voice said. This one was feminine, higher, and clear, and seemed to belong to what looked like a little girl, who had walked up next to Igor. 

Goro took in her appearance. She didn’t seem to be older than ten, with long, straight blonde hair that was held back by a butterfly-patterned headband, but there was a shadowed look in her amber eyes that made her seem older than she looked. 

Smiling politely, Goro said, “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before.”

The girl looked at him sharply. “We have not, though you have caused me a great deal of trouble.”

Goro didn’t quite know how to respond to that—it was clear that this girl held something against him, though of course, he couldn’t recall what it could possibly have been. “I . . . apologise, in that case.”

“Lavenza,” Igor addressed the girl, and something in his tone was chiding. _So her name is Lavenza?_

“Forgive my impertinence, Master,” she muttered, her gaze still locked sharply on Goro.

Igor turned back to Goro. “This is Lavenza, and she will be your Velvet Room attendant. Ordinarily, I would have requested for a different one for you, but Lavenza is more than aware of the majority of your situation, and is therefore the most appropriate choice in your case. I trust you will get along.”

Allowing himself a little pettiness, he looked at Igor and said, “Though I can’t say she seems to like me very much.”

As Goro suspected, Lavenza didn’t seem to take well to being spoken to like she wasn’t there. “I do not,” she confirmed. “Though for _my_ Trickster’s sake, I shall remain cordial with you.”

 _Fair enough. If she can help me to regain my memories, I would do well to get along with her._ “I’d shake your hand, but I suppose that wouldn’t be possible right now,” Goro joked, smiling brightly. 

Neither of the two outside seemed to get it, Goro realised, feeling a twinge of embarrassment. 

Lavenza cleared her throat. “You will be able to leave that room once your rehabilitation is complete.”

“Rehabilitation?”

Lavenza ignored him, continuing, “Of course, you do not have a corporeal body right now, so you can only exist here and in the Metaverse, through the Sea of Souls. Provided you can overcome yourself, there is a chance your physical body will manifest and you can return to reality.”

“Pardon me,” Goro interrupted, this time looking Lavenza straight in the eye, “but I can’t say I have a clue as to what you could be talking about.”

“So he really doesn’t recall anything . . .” she muttered under her breath, then said, “The Metaverse is a subreality that exists due to the cognitions of others. In a sense, it is like the ‘heart’ of humankind. Typically, it can only be entered by those who have our master’s permission.” Lavenza went into a long-winded explanation of this _cognitive world_ and something called a _Persona_ , which apparently was a manifestation of an internal desire to rebel, and could empower a _Trickster_ (that was what a Persona-user was called) with various abilities. Furthermore, he was a _wildcard_ , which meant he had the ability to harness the powers of multiple Personas, but this _wildcard_ ability was limited only to a selected few. 

After she finished, Goro felt the need to sit down on the sofa next to him. “I . . . see,” he said, letting himself process everything he’d heard. Vaguely, it sounded sort of _right_ to him, like he’d learned it before but had forgotten. 

So his past had something to do with the Metaverse, then?

“Robin Hood,” he blurted out, despite having no clue what he meant by it. 

And yet, defying all logic, a humongous robot-like being (wielding a ridiculously large bow and arrow, at that) spawned just outside Goro’s room, in the studio. 

Goro let the calm act drop for a moment as he scrambled back on the couch in the room. “Wh-what is _that_?”

Lavenza seemed awed. “One of your Personas,” she just said. “I did not think you would be able to summon it . . .”

“’Tis an honour to see you again,” the Persona—Robin Hood—greeted. _I am thou, thou art I_ , Goro heard in his head.

“So it appears that he still possesses the strength of heart of a Trickster,” Igor said blithely, though Goro could tell it was a pointed comment at Lavenza. 

Lavenza appeared to be biting back something else as she replied, “My Trickster is simply misled. I am sure he will be able to return to his heart soon.” Then, she turned to face Goro. “As will you. Under my master’s and my own guidance, I swear that you will be returned to your true self.”

Lavenza was sincere now, Goro realised. “Thank you.”

And finally, Lavenza offered him a smile. “My Trickster is quite fond of you. I would wish you luck finding yourself . . . Wanderer. Should you need me, I will appear in the Metaverse whenever you wish.”

Goro was unconscious on the sofa before he even thought to reply. 

* * *

 

“Akira, if you ever want to talk, you know you can tell me, right?” Morgana whispered from Akira’s bag. 

Akira swallowed. Clearly, Morgana hadn’t let go of the whole _Akira-has-a-Palace_ thing. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “The Palace doesn’t change who I _am_ , Morgana. I’m still me.”

Abashed, Morgana lowered his head. “That’s not . . . Akira, I’ve been with you since the beginning. You’re my best friend. I . . . I want you to trust me with your feelings.”

Akira couldn’t help but smile as he patted Morgana’s head. “Thanks, Morgana,” he said, but didn’t say anything else. If Morgana knew that all Akira wanted was to be the only person everyone depended on, there was no way he’d accept him. “You know what, let’s get some sushi later with Yusuke.” 

“That sounds great!” Morgana cheered. 

 

 

> **Yusuke Kitagawa [F0X]**
> 
> **Yusuke, want to get some** **  
> ** **sushi today?**
> 
> **_ah.....i wish i could, but i’m  
>  _ ** **_busy today_ **
> 
> **_sorry, akira_ **
> 
> **_but how about tomorrow?_ **
> 
> **That’s alright, Yusuke.**
> 
> **Tomorrow, then!**

 

“Looks like our sushi trip’s going to be delayed,” Akira shrugged. “I promised Mishi—Yuuki that I’d meet up with him, though, so how about we do that instead?”

Morgana shook the bag a little. “What’s the time?”

Akira frowned, but checked on his phone nonetheless. “It’s almost three. Why?”

“I wanna explore Tokyo again! While you meet Mishima, I’m gonna prowl the streets. I’ll be back by six, I promise!”

Hesitant, Akira bit his lip. “Fine,” he said after a moment. “If you can’t make it back to the apartment, just go to Leblanc. Boss’ll call me when he sees you. Or Futaba.” 

“Alright, see ya!” Morgana cheered, leaping out of the bag. _He could have looked a little less eager to go, if only to spare my feelings_ , Akira thought jokingly. 

His face fell. _Maybe . . . would Morgana want to get rid of me as well? He isn’t faking his concern . . . right?_

Akira was starting to wish he hadn’t let Morgana go. 

“Akira!” he heard from behind him, snapping him back into reality. Yuuki was there—and now that Akira was finally seeing him, he realised that if Yuuki hadn’t called out to him, he wouldn’t have recognised him. 

Yuuki had grown out his hair a bit, enough for it to reach his shoulders, and now he had bangs that were swept to the right side of his face. He’d even buffed up a bit—probably from the volleyball he’d continued doing—enough to really stand out. 

“You got hot,” was all Akira ended up saying, making Yuuki almost choke on air. 

“H-huh? Why is that—? Why’s _that_ the first thing you say?”

 _Still the same guy on the inside, I guess._ “It’s the first thing I noticed,” Akira teased, delighting in the increasing blush on Yuuki’s face as they got to the diner. 

“Don’t _do_ that,” Yuuki muttered, taking a seat as he buried his face in his hands. 

Akira ignored him. “Hey, do you tie your hair up?”

“Only when I’m playing . . .” Yuuki reached his hands up to his hair, gathering it up as though he were to tie it into a ponytail. 

Sensing a golden opportunity, Akira looked him in the eye and said, “Mmm, choke me.” 

Only, it was Yuuki who choked as Akira burst into peals of laughter. 

When it finally died down and they had both ordered, Akira finally managed to ask, “So how’s Tokyo been missing me?”

Yuuki pulled out his phone. “If I’m honest, the traffic on the Phantom Aficionado website’s gone down by a lot—you guys are actually just cryptids now.”

Akira shrugged one shoulder. _With the Metaverse gone, that would have had to happen._ “Fair enough.”

“Also, it turns out our entire class missed you. They talked big about avoiding you when you were there, but apparently you got yourself a fanclub.”

“You’re joking.” _I wish I’d stayed for longer . . ._

“I’m not, I swear! It took them longer to see it, but they all ended up realising how cool you really are!” Yuuki enthused, eyes shining. “By the way, Shujin’s planning on inviting alumni for a talk this weekend, so you should totally come!”

The conversation carried like that for a while until Yuuki left, saying he had practice to get to. Akira got up and stretched. _There’s still time until six . . . guess I may as well head to Leblanc._  

On the train back to Yongen-Jaya, Akira let his thoughts wander. _Weren’t . . . Mementos and the Palaces controlled by Yaldabaoth? If we defeated him, why do I have one . . . ?_ Akira hesitated for a moment, then pulled out his phone, reopening the MetaNav. 

“Akira Kurusu.”

“ _Candidate found._ ”

Akira ignored the twisting in his gut. _What is it that I see . . . distortedly?_

“Akira Kurusu’s house?”

“ _No candidates found._ ”

 _Maybe . . . the distortion would be easier to figure out, then_ , Akira thought, an idea creeping up on him. “A cage.”

“ _No candidates found._ ”

“A prison?”

“ _No candidates found._ ”

“A . . . ah.” Akira put his phone away, realising that he was getting stared at. _Besides . . . I shouldn’t be using the Nav in public._ Akira sighed, standing up to offer his seat to an old woman who’d just gotten on—feeling just a little kinder for it as he got off the train, making his way through the familiar path to Yongen-Jaya.

Akira felt his throat tighten when he peered through Leblanc’s glass door. _Everyone’s . . . here?_ A quick head count provided enough of an answer: two guys, four girls, and a cat. 

They’d all met up without him. 

Something twisted in Akira’s gut, even as he pushed the door open and said in fake cheeriness, “Having fun without me?”

Everyone flinched. 

 _I . . . see how it is._ “You all planned this, didn’t you? You too, Morgana?” 

No one met his eyes. It was confirmation enough. 

“Akira—” Ann began, but Akira raised his arm, cutting her off. 

“No, it’s alright. I see how it is, now that I’m _dangerous_. Now that I have a _Palace_.” Akira practically spat the words. “I’m evil now, aren’t I? Just like the others whose hearts we changed. Am I like _Shido_ now? Like _Kaneshiro_ ? Think I’m _using_ you all? That I’m scum?”

“Akira!” Futaba hissed, hurt evident in her eyes. _Shit._ Futaba had had a Palace too. He didn’t mean to imply that _she_ was—

No, but then again, no one had treated _Futaba_ like this when she’d had a Palace. They’d barely known her at the time. 

Akira turned on his heel and left Leblanc, closing the door behind him as he headed home. He pulled out the Nav one more time. “Akira Kurusu, Leblanc, VIP room.”

“ _No candidates found._ ”

Akira shoved his phone back in his pocket, not looking back at Leblanc as he left. _Morgana can come home himself. If he wants to come back at all._  

As it turned out, Morgana didn’t come home that night. 

 _Fine by me_ , Akira thought bitterly, tears stinging his eyes. _I’ve lost, haven’t I? It’s game over._

* * *

The atmosphere was heavy in Leblanc after Akira had stormed out. 

“We’ve gotta help him,” Futaba mumbled quietly, staring at her hands, which were folded in her lap. “Makoto . . . count me in for the Palace Infiltration team.”

“So that’s three of us who want to change his heart,” Makoto said, looking at the rest of the group. “Anyone else in after _that_?”

“I’m in.” Haru’s voice was firm as she looked at Makoto resolutely. “I won’t let him destroy himself because of a distortion.”

“I would wish to join as well,” Yusuke said, eyes hard as he stared at _Sayuri_ , still hanging next to the counter. “It’s thanks to Akira that I’m where I am today. I refuse to accept him hurting like this.”

“I . . . I don’t know . . .” Ann bit her lip. “He sounded so . . . _betrayed_ when he saw us all here. I still think it’s wrong to go in, especially now.”

Ryuji pounded his fist on the table. “The only reason he’s acting like that is because of the goddamn Palace, Ann! If the Palace goes, he’ll be back to normal!”

Ann bristled. “Haven’t _you_ considered that something obviously _caused_ the Palace in the first place? And don’t you think he’s already hurt enough? It’s not like he won’t know if we do it! He’ll feel even _more_ betrayed!”

Ryuji stepped back, and Makoto chose that moment to speak up. “Ann,” she said, looking Ann in the eye, “the Palace may have had a different cause, but the fact is that as long as it exists, Akira’s going to stay stuck in that negative spiral.”

Ann hesitated. “You’re . . . right,” she agreed finally, albeit rather unwillingly. “Okay, I’m in.” Akira’s face—his look of pure _contempt_ flashed in Ann’s mind. _I don’t want him to hate us . . . but he’s so alone like this . . ._  

Morgana finally spoke up. “So the decision is unanimous. Our next target is Akira Kurusu.”

There was no celebration or cheering that a target for a heart to change had been chosen. No excitement, no looking forward to stealing the Treasure. 

The Phantom Thieves disbanded with their hearts heavy. 

* * *

 

Futaba’s eyes didn’t leave the screen as she typed furiously, eyes flashing through lines of code in seconds, mumbling to herself. 

Behind her, Morgana peered over her chair. “Whatcha doing?”

Futaba’s fingers stopped tapping momentarily. “Looking through Akira’s search history,” she said, resuming. 

Morgana nodded, seeming to understand the sens in that. “Oh, okay . . .”

Futaba looked back at the screen. “You aren’t going back to him? I . . . don’t think he’d want to be alone right now.”

Morgana let out something akin to a sigh. “I would, but . . . I don’t really know the way back there. And it’s already too late for anyone to drop me off . . .” Morgana paused, then continued, “And I don’t think . . . I’ll be able to face him after lying to him . . .”

Futaba glanced over the screen before saying, “Well, my mom always used to say that if you break a promise or hurt someone, you should try and make it right as soon as possible.” She clicked the _continue_ button that showed up. 

Morgana’s voice was quiet. “Will he listen to me . . . ?” Another sigh. “Personally . . . I think the only person he’d listen to is you, Futaba.”

Futaba’s hands stiffened over the keyboard. “Because I had a Palace too?”

Morgana jumped onto her desk and shook his head. “That may be a part of it, but Akira sees you as . . . a little sister. Knowing him, I think he would have said more of that stuff if he hadn’t realised it would hurt you.”

Futaba didn’t quite know what to think. Of course, she hadn’t missed Akira’s momentary look or regret when she’d interrupted him, but she hadn’t known what to make of it until now. Not really sure what to say, Futaba shifted her attention to another monitor, turning the volume on full and switching the screen to a relatively new one, which displayed Akira’s living room from a camera she’d left behind in the form of a photo frame. 

Of course, it wasn’t like she hadn’t made it obvious that it was there. She’d set down the green frame on the dining table, and written in pen on the side, _Oracle sees all~_ so she’d made it pretty clear that it had a camera and wiretap in it that could have been switched off whenever. 

Akira had only just seemed to have arrived back home, Futaba noted, watching him take off his jacket and hang it on the back of one of the dining chairs, just as he noticed the frame on the dining table. 

“ _This thing’s bugged, isn’t it, Futaba?_ ” he asked, looking right at the frame, lifting it closer so he could see it clearly, treating Futaba to an ample view of his face. 

Which, now that Futaba could see it, appeared to be bruised in several places, almost as though Akira had gotten himself into a brawl. And if Morgana’s hiss from beside her was any hint, Morgana had come to the same conclusion. 

“Those are burn blisters on his neck . . . and there’s frost on his jacket . . .” Morgana mumbled. “He must’ve gone into Mementos.”

“That idiot,” Futaba hissed, but it sounded half-hearted even to her. She knew firsthand how hard it was to deal with a distortion—it had messed with her mental health, even her memories. She’d been too scared to even leave her room most of the time. 

Akira, at least, was still able to function. _But that doesn’t excuse him from making stupid decisions! How can he just go in without any arms or a Persona?_

Futaba slammed her hand down on the desk, just as Akira turned the frame to face downwards so she couldn’t see if he’d gotten any other injuries. 

“Futaba . . . what are we going to do?” Morgana asked quietly, and Futaba had never heard him sound so unsure. 

“I don’t know,” she murmured. 

“ _Go to sleep, Futaba. It’s late._ ” The bitterness in Akira’s voice was enough to make Futaba’s heart sink, so much that she didn’t hear the almost silent “ _sorry_ ” that came in through the mic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "emma will you ever stop projecting your angst onto your fics?"
> 
> no, fight me
> 
> ANYWAY yeah so we finally got Goro in here and he's . . . give him credit, he's trying. Akira's . . . not. lol


	4. Revive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The right choice is often the one more painful to make. Progress cannot exist without downfall. Isn't that right, Queen?_

“Your phone is still on,” Morgana said, pawing at Futaba’s phone, which was still displaying the MetaNav’s screen. 

Futaba shrugged one shoulder. “In case we trigger any of Akira’s keywords. The others are all gonna do the same.”

Morgana nodded. “He's our best friend, but . . . we don’t really know all that much about him, do we?”

Futaba frowned and shook her head. “He was always more concerned about knowing us than the other way around . . .”

It had been almost two weeks since Akira had moved back to Tokyo, and, in the wise words of Ryuji Sakamoto, _'Shit had hit the fan and wouldn’t come down.'_

Akira hadn’t responded to any of his messages. Hadn’t even bothered to open their group chat since that day at the cafe.

Futaba leaned back in her chair, and sighed. School would start for her on Monday, and while her anxiety had eased enough for it to not be too much of a bother, it meant she had to leave the comfort of her room—that, and she wouldn’t be able to keep up with her 24/7 surveillance of Akira. 

Akira had gone into the Metaverse multiple times already, from what Futaba could gather from audio alone (whenever the clatter of a model gun hit the table, or Akira mentioned something under his breath about ridiculous Shadows). 

Save for herself and Morgana, all the Phantom Thieves had gone and tried to pay Akira a visit, but the landlady had told them the same thing each time—that he either wasn’t there, or wasn’t accepting visitors. 

“At least he’ll probably see Makoto at school, right? They’re going to go to the same university . . .” she mumbled. 

“I don’t really know anything about university,” Morgana admitted. “Except for the fact that the one Akira’s going to sounds pretty prestigious!”

Futaba nodded. “It's the best university in Japan.”

“ _Damn it!_ ” Akira’s voice came in a hiss through the speaker, drawing both Futaba’s and Morgana’s attention. “ _Where is it? Where the hell is it?_ ”

Futaba stiffened—Akira’s voice was hostile, furious, even—and it was scaring her. She could hear the model gun being dumped harshly on the table, enough to knock over the photo frame where she had installed the wiretap and the camera—which provided her with an ample view of the room (and thankfully, Akira) at last. 

Akira was frantically looking through his phone, and while his glasses still hid his eyes, his mouth was contorted into what was almost a snarl. “ _Why isn’t it here? Igor, did you—I_ need _to go back, damn it! I was so close! Give me the Nav back!_ ”

“He must not have the MetaNav anymore.” Morgana shook his head and whispered. “He’s locked out of the Metaverse now." Futaba watched on sorrowfully as Akira dropped his phone to the floor, and buried his head in his hands. 

“ _Isn’t this stupid game of yours supposed to be over now?_ ” Akira mumbled, barely loud enough for the wiretap to catch. 

 _Game?_ Futaba mused, reaching for her phone to try the MetaNav again. 

* * *

Yusuke sighed, dropping his pencil. He hadn’t been able to draw properly since the entire incident the previous week. 

_Akira . . ._

He’d tried to go to Akira’s house three times since then, but either the landlady had stopped him in the lobby, or Akira had simply 'gone out'. 

“It makes sense that he would be angry over our meeting without him," Yusuke mused aloud. "Especially because he was the subject of the meeting in the first place.”

And Yusuke had never pictured so grand a betrayal before. The sheer emotion in Akira’s grey eyes had swirled like a thunderstorm, his eyebrows tilted slightly upwards in a frantic fight between desperation and disbelief, his lips pursed like they were holding back a flood of pain that threatened to spill over the slightest push. 

And then he had hidden behind his glasses again, slipping into a watercolor background too vague to discern. 

Yusuke had never felt so sickened before, save for the time he had found out that the closest thing he had ever had to a father was actually a con man lying about his art to the world. 

 _And if Akira ends up like Madarame?_ A crushing wave of fear swept over Yusuke. He wouldn’t be able to handle a betrayal like that again, like when Crow—

_Crow?_

Why was he suddenly thinking about birds?

Was it perhaps because crows symbolised death and bad luck?

An idea rushed to Yusuke’s mind, it nagged at him possessing his hand to pick up his pencil and start a sketch on the blank canvas before him. 

And before he knew it, he was painting. Flecks of black marred clear grey. Thunderclouds swirled across the canvas. Troubled storms met the beady black eyes of a single bird that led the purest of hearts astray. 

When he was finished, Yusuke wasn’t sure why the painting seemed to dull his every sense and sap him of his energy. Taking a step back to appreciate the eerie piece, a strange dullness took hold of him. It was almost like an omen, really, strange as it was to think about in that manner. 

Somewhere outside his window, a lone crow cawed.

* * *

Haru couldn’t focus on Sojiro’s voice at all—she’d been distracted throughout the week, mind constantly drifting towards Akira, and how they would infiltrate his Palace. They knew that it covered Tokyo, so it was guaranteed to be big at least, and . . . not much else, really. 

“Take a break, Haru,” Sojiro said, snapping her out of her thoughts. She looked down, only to realize she’d overbrewed the coffee in her distraction. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, a little embarrassed to have lost her focus in the middle of Sojiro's coffee brewing lesson. She let out a sigh, wondering what she could say, but it was Sojiro who spoke first. 

“Akira hasn’t come around lately,” he said, offhandedly. “Any idea why?”

Haru had never been a good liar. “We hurt him,” she said, impulsively. Her gaze fell to the floor, then travelled to a single coffee filter she had dropped earlier. It was currently half tucked beneath her shoe. “W-We said . . . some things and left him out of a few discussions we were having. It _was_ for his sake!" she exclaimed rushedly, then bit her lip, before continuing, “But I can’t imagine how much it must have hurt him.”

Sojiro hummed. He thought it over, then asked, “And were these discussions about him?”

It sounded a lot worse when it was put like that—but Sojiro was right. They had met without him,  intentionally,for the sole purpose of talking about _him_ behind _his back._ And then they decided to do something he had clearly asked—no, _begged_ them—not to do. 

Just like her father had done to her, back when he all but sold her to Sugimura. 

She couldn’t pretend that she hadn’t made the connection before, comparing herself to Akira, but she’d tried to brush it off, tried to convince herself that it was too far of a reach, that she couldn’t possibly be like her father. 

No matter how much she missed him, his smile, his endless gifts, there was no denying the monster he had become. especially after seeing his Palace. _Especially_ after that. _I’m not like him_ , she asserted _. I won't become like him._ She furrowed her brows, grip on the counter tightening. 

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Sojiro sighed. 

Haru didn't realise she hadn’t answered Sojiro’s question. She let out a soft apology before helping him pick up the spilled coffee beans on the counter and the floor. 

“I’m not the one you owe an apology to,” Sojiro said simply. “Feel free to call your friends over and we’ll talk about this over a plate of curry.”

Haru nodded. She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text out to the Phantom Thief group chat—the one Akira hadn’t been on since his first night in Tokyo. 

 

 

 

> **_N01R:_ ** _Leblanc for dinner?_ @everyone
> 
> **_SKU11:_ ** _ye sounds good for me n ann_
> 
> **_QU33N:_ ** _I’ll be there too._
> 
> **_P4NTH3R:_ ** _oooh can shiho come too?_
> 
> **_N01R:_ ** _Just phantom thieves if possible_
> 
> **_P4NTH3R:_ ** _kay, gotcha!_
> 
> **_0R4CLE:_ ** _mona and i’ll be there in a sec!_
> 
> **_F0X:_ ** _oh this is good_
> 
> **_F0X:_ ** _looks like i can have dinner tonight_
> 
> **_N01R:_ ** _Yusuke please tell us when_ _  
> _ _you don’t have enough money to_ _  
> _ _eat_
> 
> **_N01R:_ ** _We can help you_
> 
> **_F0X:_ ** _is akira coming?_ @J0KER

 

No response from Akira. According to the small notification, he hadn’t bothered to open the chat since that day at Leblanc, let alone respond to any messages. 

The radio silence—and his adamant refusal to meet them— _hurt_. It was even worse than when Akira had gone back home—at least then, they had their regular texts and video calls, and they were happy, even with all the distance put between them.. 

Haru never really had friends before meeting the Phantom Thieves, and now, to watch their leader drift away and isolate himself . . . 

_Just like how Father did when Okumura Foods started getting bigger. Am I going to lose Akira as well?_

She’d been thinking about her father a lot lately, hadn’t she? It had been well over a year since his death, but she couldn’t forget the image that had been burned into her mind that terrible day, no matter how hard she tried. Black blood oozing from his eyes. _From his mouth_. Eyes rolled to the back of his head— Perhaps the only thing that had soothed that pain was the closure she’d gotten from—

Wait. When had she ever gotten closure on her father’s death?

He’d been killed by the Black Mask, the true culprit behind the mental shutdowns. But even Masayoshi Shido failed to reveal his identity, even with the police force's further examination. At least, according to Sae-san. 

_Another thing to bring up tonight . . ._

* * *

As she finally reached, Makoto glanced around Leblanc: Haru, Futaba, and Morgana were already on their seats. 

 _As much as I hate to accept it . . . Akira isn’t going to come, is he?_ Makoto tried to tamp down the swirling pit of guilt stirring up in her stomach. Their last meeting had been her idea, after all, so it was, essentially, her fault that Akira had cut off contact with them. 

She could feel her hands clench into fists, a habit she’d thought was long-dead after she had joined the Phantom Thieves. 

“Mako-chan,” Haru’s dulcet voice cut through Makoto’s thoughts, as a gentle hand came to rest on her shoulder. 

Makoto shook her head, fully extricating herself from her negative spiral. “Sorry, Haru, I was just thinking about—” 

“Akira-kun?” Haru supplied. 

Makoto nodded. “I was the one who suggested we meet up at Leblanc that day without him. I-if I hadn’t done that . . .”

Haru interrupted her before she could go any further. “We did hurt him,” she agreed, “and we can’t undo that.” Haru’s voice was gentle but ever so firm. As strong as the metal of her axe. “But we _can_ help him. And if something good came out of what happened, it’s that we can all agree that he needs our help!”

Makoto's eyes widened. Haru was right. Scouldn’t change what she’d done, or how her actions had hurt Akira—even if that wasn’t her intention. But now she was sure. She would save Akira Kurusu, come what may. 

Ryuji and Ann burst through Leblanc’s door at that moment, apparently wrapped up in an argument about whether or not cereal was a healthy breakfast choice. Ann was firm on her stance over some Western cereal called _'Lucky Charms',_ while Ryuji opposed her by talking about how _“Carbs are still carbs!”_

“And cereal is life!” Futaba cut in from her perch on a barstool.

“You don’t get to talk, all you eat is like, instant yakisoba!”

“And curry!” She stuck her tongue out to him. 

“Curry would be quite delicious about now,” Yusuke said, ever so calm. Wait. _When did he—?_

“Wh— the eff, man! The hell did you come from?” Ryuji practically yelled, the cereal debate vanishing from his train of thought.

“It is imperative that we start this strategy meeting immediately," Yusuke said, seemingly unperturbed by Ryuji's outburst. “I tried stopping by Akira’s apartment to see if he was coming, but he had already made his departure by the time I was there.” He frowned.

 _He really isn’t coming, then._ Makoto let out a sigh as Haru sat down next to her. She opened the MetaNav on her phone. “Then let’s begin the meeting.” 

She received a collective nod from the group before going over the facts that they knew, which were: Akira had a Palace. It spanned the entirety of Tokyo. It was consuming his mind, and distorting his memories. “Anyone have anything else to add?” she addressed the group.

Futaba hugged her knees closer to her chest. “Um. Yeah, actually . . ." she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Something happened today, and Mona-mona and I might have a few ideas about his keywords . . .”

“What are they?” Haru asked.

Morgana leapt from the counter to the table where the rest of the group was huddled around. “Well, first, we suspected he’s been going to Mementos recently," the cat said. “He came back with various types of elemental damage only possible to obtain through the Metaverse at one point, but we haven’t seen anything past that since he covered the camera. Earlier today, however—”

“Apparently he doesn’t have the MetaNav anymore,” Futaba interrupted. “He was freaking out bigtime over that! Then he called this, uh—it was something like ‘Igor’s game’,so we think his keyword may have something to do with a game! We tried a few things, but . . .” Futaba buried her head on her knees, dyed orange bangs falling over face.

“A game, huh . . .” Ann mused, a finger curled around one of her ponytails. “But what kind of game?”

“We already tried ‘chessboard’, ‘dungeon’, ‘card game’, and ‘arcade’.” Morgana said. “I still don’t know if there are other kinds of human games.” He licked at his paw absently.

Makoto felt she’d been quiet for too long. She tried to breathe, to calm down, and rationalize the situation (dire as it was), just as she had done back when she bore the title of school council president.“If you think of anything, try it in the Nav," she raised her voice, continuing, “we can’t let a single opportunity pass us by!” 

Futaba raised her head and nodded in assertion. “He sounded like he was losing his mind earlier today . . . We don’t have _any_ time to waste.”

“On the plus side, though,” Ryuji added, “at least now he can’t keep escaping into Mementos to do stupid shit.” He looked away. “Maybe he’s trying to deal with it by throwing himself against everything . . . Hell, I actually kinda think he's letting himself get hurt as a distraction . . .” he scratched the back of his head with a grimace.

“You speak from experience, I take it,” Yusuke offered quietly. Ryuji froze, and averted his eyes. 

 _Or . . . could it be the distorted memories . . . ? Does he really think we knew the Black Mask by name? . . . That the Black Mask was_ one _of us? For a time?_ Makoto slumped her shoulders, closed her eyes, and murmured,“ I wonder whether the distortion has something to do with what he said about the Black Mask?” She stiffened, suddenly remembering that both Haru and Futaba were within earshot. 

Futaba was (thankfully) distracted for the most part with petting Morgana, who had returned to his spot atop the counter. The girl at her side, however . . .

Makoto spared Haru a guilty glance.

 “It’s okay, Mako-chan,” Haru reassured, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. 

Makoto bit her lip—no matter how much Haru said she was fine, Makoto knew the pain of losing a parent. She still missed her own father, and even when he’d died, she’d had her sister throughout, and years to come to terms with it. What was Haru left with? 

Nothing, other than the burden of having to manage an entire company. One she would inherit legally by the end of the year, on her twentieth birthday. 

“ _Mako-chan_ ,” Haru insisted, bringing Makoto back to reality by placing her hand on Makoto’s consolingly, just as the group quieted. 

“Say, Haru, Futaba . . .” Makoto was quiet, hesitant—unlike herself—as she asked, “If Akira thinks we know the Black Mask . . . he’ll be in his Palace for sure. Will you two be okay with that?” 

Makoto realised she should have expected Haru’s answer the moment it came:

 “I’ll be fine, I think. I don’t think I could forgive the Black Mask for what he did to my father—and to Futaba’s mother”—Futaba nodded in agreement, though a little more hesitant—“but I don’t think I’d have a problem seeing him face to face.” Haru paused, thoughtful. “I don’t know why, but I imagine it would be easier to pity him, since he was being controlled by Shido the whole time . . .”

Wait, what? “How do you know he was being controlled?” Makoto snapped her head to look at her, the group's focus suddenly placed on the heiress.

Haru blinked, as though she’d been unaware of her own comment. “I don’t,” she admitted, her soft features scrunching up into a frown. “I’m not sure why I said that, actually . . .”

“You know, now that you mention it,” Ann mumbled quietly, “ever since Akira’s return, I’ve noticed that I’ve been thinking of things that never really happened, and then wondered why.” Her nose wrinkled in confusion.

“Hey, me too!” Ryuji exclaimed, shooting up from his seat, then promptly sat back down. Haru and Yusuke nodded quietly. 

“That’s actually another part of the reason I thought we should all be meeting up today,” Haru said curtly. “Just earlier, I was thinking about my father, and up until now, I’d never tried to think too much about it, but it felt like I’d had closure. Looking back, though, I know for sure that I don’t.”

“And just now, what you said about knowing about the Black Mask being controlled by Shido—you also referred to the Black Mask as a _he_ , didn’t you?” Morgana asked, raising his head off the counter. He jumped once more from his spot to the table. 

“It came out naturally,” Haru affirmed, while running a hand through his fur. Morgana leaned towards her touch, purring softly.

“I have experienced something vaguely similar as well,” Yusuke said thoughtfully. “Though it didn’t have to do with the Black Mask, but something about a crow . . . or someone called Crow? And a betrayal, of sorts . . .” He pursed his lips, crossed his arms, and dropped his head, as if summoning a specific memory.

“Didn’t Akira say the name of some dude in the chat when he brought it up, too? Wasn’t it like, Akemi or something?”

“Goro Akechi,” Futaba corrected, having already rolled the chat back to when it had happened the night Akira arrived in Tokyo. 

“Yeah,” Ryuji nodded. ‘I dunno why, but for some reason, just hearin’ that name pisses me off. Like, not in the way that Shido or Kaneshiro _really_ pissed me off, but more like how you have that one classmate that’s always sucking up to the teacher’s ass and tries to get liked with a fake-ass smile,” he explained. 

“That’s . . . oddly specific,” Makoto mused, mulling it over. _And yet none of it contradicts anything._ “Everything fits, if you put it together. ‘Goro Akechi’—Goro is a masculine name, which fits with Haru’s assumption that he was male, and if he truly _was_ on the team, he would have had to convince us that he’d be a good addition, which ties in with Ryuji’s instinctive aversion to just his name. Of course, if he was trying to manipulate us, he would have been faking it.”

Makoto glanced around at her friends, their rapt attention encouraging her to continue, “Furthermore, if he really did join the Phantom Thieves at some point, he would have had to have a codename—going by what Yusuke said, it could likely have been ‘Crow’, and he was the Crow that betrayed us. There’s also the fact that crows are usually black, which would tie in to him _being_ the Black Mask.”

 _And as the final piece to the puzzle . . ._ “And, finally,” she said, steepling her fingers, “there’s the matter of what Akira asked you, Morgana. You said something about him. He asked you about what happens if someone dies in the Metaverse, correct?”

Morgana nodded. “If someone dies in the Metaverse, within someone’s cognition, they get erased from reality altogether, I think. And everyone else’s cognition of them, too.” His tail swished. “Kind of like what happened to us when the Metaverse joined with reality and everyone forgot about the Phantom Thieves.”

“And going by Akira’s story, if this Akechi person was killed in Masayoshi Shido’s Palace,” Makoto summarised, “that means that he’s been erased from our cognitions, too, which is why we don’t remember him.”

Yusuke looked up. “So what you’re saying is . . .”

Makoto nodded in affirmation. “Maybe it’s not Akira’s memories that got distorted by his Palace—maybe it’s _our_ memories that got affected by the effect Goro Akechi’s death had on our cognitions.”

“Then how come Akira remembers him but _we_ don’t?” Ann asked, lips forming a half-pout.

“It kinda makes sense,” Futaba mumbled from her barstool. “Having a Palace connects his mind more deeply to the Metaverse, so it’s possible that it’s _because_ he has a Palace that he remembers . . . though that’s mostly just speculation . . .” She shrugged her shoulders.

“This don’t make no freakin’ sense!” Ryuji threw his head back, “So if we help him, his memories will get effed up for real because the Palace _un_ \- _effed_ his memories and it’s _our_ memories that are screwed?”

“It seems that way,” Haru murmured. 

Ann frowned. “Doesn’t that make it even more wrong for us to change his heart, then . . . ?”

Makoto hummed. “We have a few clues now,” she said. “If we go into his Palace, we might find the truth about this situation. But we don’t know if that'll end up affecting his memories again.” 

 _And what if we manage to erase his memories? It . . . it’ll be for the best if he forgets the Black Mask, right?_ Makoto remembered just how _attached_ Akira had been to the concept of this Akechi person. To someone who had most definitely caused the rampage incidents, the mental shutdowns, and had killed Futaba’s mother and Haru’s father. The person who’d been the instigator of her own sister’s Palace, however indirectly.

 _Sis’s Palace . . ._ Admittedly, it was one of the things that Makoto preferred not to think about. The signs of the stress that had shown on her sister’s face were obvious at the time, to the extent that Makoto had checked the MetaNav to see whether or not she had formed a Palace, only to come up with a positive result. _I know I didn’t tell the other Phantom Thieves about it because I assumed it would sound like a selfish request, but . . . then why did we come to the decision to explore Sis’s Palace in the first place?_ Makoto could feel the beginning of a headache. She massaged her temple with the tips of her fingers. 

A lot of things were, admittedly, not adding up. 

If going into Akira’s Palace meant that she could both save her friend _and_ find answers, it was the best thing they could hope for. The _only_ good outcome.

But, just as Ann had said, the only cost would be Akira’s trust. Maybe they would be able to get rid of his distorted cognition, but that wouldn’t change the fact that they were going to do it against his will. 

He might hate them for it. And she knew it. 

 _You wouldn’t let him suffer, though, would you?_ Anat’s voice brushed at the edge of Makoto’s consciousness, and Makoto realised—she was right. 

 _If Akira hates me after this, so be it. I can’t keep letting him suffer like this._ She didn't realize the way her nails were digging into the skin of her palms. “The reason Akira has a Palace is because he’s been feeling so alone for so long!” Makoto stood up abruptly, slamming her palms against the table. “We can’t afford to let him make it worse by isolating him!” She had messed up by excluding him, the other day. She couldn’t do that to him again. Ever. “He may come to despise us when he finds out we broke his trust. But even if he doesn’t want to be helped, we can’t let him suffer!”

“So you’re saying that it’s better to beg for forgiveness rather than ask for permission,” Yusuke mused, fingers angled as if ready to immortalize Makoto's fury and determination. 

“Yes,” Makoto said firmly. She’d made her mistake. She wouldn’t repeat it. _Goro Akechi . . . if he was close to Shido, maybe Sis can find something from Shido’s confession that could help._ She would exhaust every last resort if push came to shove. “Everyone, try and find out whatever you can about Goro Akechi!" She commanded. “And whatever you can find out about Masayoshi Shido’s connection to the Black Mask. Try and remember what you can, for Akira's sake!”

Futaba, who was now busy tapping away at her phone, added, “We should ask the Shadows in the Metaverse, too, they’re bound to have more tea than any of us, since they’re subconscious.” She let out a small cackle.

“Tea?” Yusuke echoed. “Why would Shadows have tea?”

“It means gossip,” Ann explained. 

“Oh, that makes sense, I suppose.”

“Let’s do this shit and save Akira!” Ryuji whooped, prompting the group’s dispersal with one last cheer.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Haru chirped as Futaba and Morgana were leaving. “Mona-chan, you should go back to Akira tonight. He’s been alone for quite some time, hasn’t he? I think he would appreciate you going back to him.”

Morgana nodded, tail swishing anxiously. “I guess so . . . Yeah . . .” he said, then nodded. “I’ll go back.” With another flick of his tail, Morgana leapt off in the direction of Akihabara. 

Once everyone had left, Makoto let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. She sat back down, and folded her hands on her lap, Haru steadfast at her side. 

 She pressed a quick kiss to Makoto’s cheek. “You did great, Mako-chan.” She said, offering a warm smile. 

Makoto tried to ignore the way her heart flipped. “I hope so,” she murmured quietly, staring in the direction of the door. A million questions and doubts bouncing and forming around her head. “I just want Akira to see reason again.”

“Me too,” Haru agreed, lacing her fingers around Makoto’s, beneath the table. 

* * *

Morgana hesitated in the hallway of Akira’s apartment corridor—what was he going to say to him? Should he apologise for having run away to live with Futaba for a week? Act as though nothing happened?

_Would Akira even let him back in?_

Of course, he knew Akira was kind— _too_ kind, even. Even after Morgana had run away after a particularly harsh spat with Ryuji, Akira had welcomed him back with open arms. 

But there was no telling how he’d react now that he had a Palace. 

_The Palace doesn’t change who I am, Morgana. I’m still me._

Guilt surged through Morgana—maybe he really had been too suspicious of him, too wary, too biased against the idea of him having a Palace. 

Morgana steeled himself, about to go in, when—

A woman walked out of the apartment, closing the door behind her. To Morgana, the implication was clear enough. He was debating just sleeping in the corridor, when the woman noticed him. 

“You’re Akira’s cat—Morgana, right?” It was Hifumi, the one who’d taught Akira shogi at the old church. She crouched down and patted his head. “He misses you a lot, you know,” she said, a sad look passing over her eyes. “I’ve been coming over to play shogi with him these last three days, but he’s been pretty lonely. It’s good to see you’re back.” After lightly scritching Morgana’s neck, Hifumi stood up and left without another word. 

_He misses me . . ._

Without another moment’s hesitation, Morgana darted into the house, and made straight for Akira’s room. 

Akira was asleep, but he looked terrible—like he’d barely been getting any sleep, if at all. He’d lost weight, too, but what caught Morgana’s attention the most was that his pillow was splotched with what seemed to be fresh tears. Either he’d fallen asleep crying, or he was crying in his sleep. 

 _And he’s been suffering alone because I left him_ , Morgana thought numbly. He paused, considering, then slowly wriggled under one of Akira’s arms. 

In his sleep, Akira mumbled, “Mrrggna?”

Morgana didn’t reply out loud. Instead, he gently placed a paw over Akira’s cheek. _I’m sorry I left you alone like that._

Just as Morgana drifted off in Akira’s warmth, his sleepy gaze wandered off to a blue-and-white striped tie that Akira was clutching tightly in his other hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I posting in the middle of exam season? Yep. Is it a good idea? Not in the slightest. Wish me luck, guys!
> 
> And yes, I mean _literally_ in the middle of exam season; I'm posting this from the exam waiting room.


	5. Reminisce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I am thou, thou art I. Thou hast acquired a new vow._

When Akira woke up, he found himself choking on a furball. “Pffuff, Mrrgnna . . .” he grumbled, half asleep. 

Wait, wait, wait. 

Morgana? 

Sure enough, the cat was lying belly-up on Akira’s chest, snoring away without a care in the world. 

Akira wanted to be angry. He wanted to huff, turn away, maybe even wake Morgana up and tell him that he could go back _home_ with Futaba or whomever he’d been staying with, that he could live on the streets begging for scraps for all Akira cared. 

But if he were to be honest with himself (he would need to be, to get rid of his damned Palace . . . to get himself another Persona, to go back into Mementos . . .), all he could feel was relief. 

That didn’t mean, of course, that it didn’t hurt. Each glance at the empty food bowl over the last two weeks had stung with the reminder that even Morgana, the very incarnation of humanity’s hope, had left him. Maybe Akira was truly hopeless after all, for that to have been the case. 

Of course, Akira was fully aware of how overdramatic he was being, but in his defense (or at the very least, in his _opinion_ ), he was in every position to be overdramatic. 

He had a Palace, for goodness’ sake. _Can it be called goodness’ sake if it’s not really good? Maybe saying ‘for God’s sake’ would make more sense in context, since Palaces were the idea of a fake god, but then again_ —

Akira shook his head. This had been happening a lot lately—idle thoughts would turn into endless, meaningless musings, wasting any amount of time from minutes to hours whenever he came up with an inconsequential argument to an equally inconsequential thought. At this rate, he was fairly sure his mind would turn into a debate chamber.

Automatically, he pulled out his phone, thumb reaching for a particular app whose position he knew like the back of his hand. “Akira Kurusu, debate chamber.”

No response from the Nav—not even the ever recurring _No candidates found_ that he’d become so accustomed to hearing. 

Looking at his phone, it hit Akira once again that Igor or Lavenza must have taken the MetaNav off his phone. With a scowl, he shoved it back into his pyjama pocket. 

Seating himself at the dining table, Akira stared at what might have been the most valuable things he’d scraped out of Mementos: a toy ray gun and a real silencer—both of which had belonged to Goro Akechi, found in the ruins of a sunken ship, deep, deep into the newly reformed Mementos. 

Akira picked up the gun—this wasn’t the one that he’d bought him from Untouchable; all the extra weapons and armour that Akira had bought for him had been returned to Leblanc, arranged neatly in a nondescript cardboard box. This gun was the one that had belonged to _Crow_ when he’d first joined the group. 

Akira turned it over in his hands. It was a simple golden gun, one that you wouldn’t imagine would be used in this day and age. _It looks like something right out of Featherman_ , Akira mused. Of course, it was too real to be something out of a cartoon of any sort—each line was etched carefully, made to be a brilliant model replica. The craftsmanship was superb, for something that was made of plastic. 

And at the base, in permanent marker that had scratched out over time, Akira saw the shadow of a name written in a child’s messy handwriting: 

 **_G_ ** _OrO AkE_ **_C_ ** _hI_

How long had he had this toy gun? Since he was a child, definitely, but the quality, the detail on the gun itself—it didn’t look like something that an orphanage or a foster family would buy for a kid. _Akechi mentioned his mom a few times . . . it must have been from her,_  he thought, putting the gun down. Just because Akechi was dead now

_—dead, dead, he was really dead—_

didn’t mean that it didn’t feel intrusive to pry, even in his own speculations. 

He could already imagine Akechi’s voice in his head— _“Just as you go digging around Palaces, you go into people’s own minds . . . A tad intrusive as well, is it not?”_

Akira wondered briefly whether that was his cognition of Akechi speaking to his subconscious, and if he’d been able to see him had he been in his own Palace. Somehow, he felt as though there was a missing irony in that—or, perhaps, that it was ironic because of whatever was missing. 

He frowned. That hadn’t made sense at all. 

 _“You’re right. It didn’t,”_ the Akechi voice inside his head replied, with all the sugar and honey of his television voice politely telling the hosts of each program that they were stupid and should let him handle the talking.

Akira almost wanted to tell his own cognition of the detective to shut up, but he decided against it, considering that after everything, perhaps it would be nice to have some company that _actually remembered shit_. 

_“Now, now, that was needlessly rude, don’t you think, Kurusu?”_

Okay, Akira was tempted to take it right back. Akechi may have remembered shit, but his barbed remarks were as ridiculously annoying as ever. 

Cogni-kechi laughed in his head. 

Akira had forgotten that when Akechi wasn’t flirting (for lack of a better word) with him, he could also be this imperious and annoying. 

 _“Oh, please, don’t mind me, Kurusu. Though it’s interesting how this entire Palace is themed around_ — _Ah! never mind . . .”_

Akira stiffened. He was _this_ close to having been told his keywords. Trust _Akechi_ of all people to dangle such information right out of reach. _Tell me this goddamn instant, you stupid cognition_ , he tried to think _to_ Akechi, as if somehow his words would reach him.

 _“I’m learning something here, Joker,”_ Cogni-kechi said glibly. _“Oh, yes, you do prefer that form of address, don’t you?”_ He could hear Cogni-kechi hum in appraisal, but after that, silence. 

Akira shivered. _Learning something?_

How could a cognition of his be _learning something_ in his Palace? What would be _there_ to learn?

_—what if it’s not a cognition—_

Okay, out of all the ridiculous, pointless thoughts Akira’s had today, that one had to take the cake. When Futaba had a Palace, she’d heard voices too, hadn’t she? Then again, she’d had PTSD-related hallucinations. Akira hadn’t. 

Akira dragged his hand over his face. This was exhausting, and it was only barely eight in the morning. 

Akira noted with minute disappointment that Cogni-kechi didn’t seem to be in the mood to answer him anymore. _“Fine_ ,” he grumbled under his breath, “be that way, Akechi.”

Akira switched his gaze to the silencer. He’d definitely never seen it before, but if his suspicions were correct, this was probably what Akechi had used in the interrogation room when he’d killed Sae’s cognitive version of himself. 

He didn’t pick it up. 

Instead, he just stared at it without really looking, his mind slowly returning to the slowly diminishing ruins of Shido’s Palace, a sunken ship deep in Mementos, with the watertight bulkhead door firmly shut. 

But still, he’d gotten two of Akechi’s possessions out. That had to account for something, right? 

Deep within the confines of Akira’s mind, a metal door creaked.

* * *

Goro really wanted to break something. 

It wasn’t that he hated Lavenza or Igor—as much as neither of them would shut up _or_ give him answers—but he was getting pretty damn tired of having to be polite. 

It had occurred to him that he didn’t _have_ to be polite, that all his insults didn’t have to be as backhanded and subtle as they were (though he wasn’t quite sure _why_ he found it so amusing to deliver each one with a sickly sweet smile and get a rise out of Lavenza), but somehow, the muted smile, the gentle tone and the quiet deference seemed to come naturally, like he was used to it. 

Used to being fake, huh? With both that and the TV studio being his . . . “heart,” as Igor referred to it, perhaps he was an actor of sorts? 

“You would not be far off from the truth if you were to assume such,” Lavenza said, staring through the window of the recording room. 

Goro resumed the pleasant smile that his face seemed to be so accustomed to making. “Is that so? I’d appreciate it if you actually told me more, you know, considering you seem to have taken rather well to looking through my thoughts.”

Oh, that one seemed to irritate her. Goro didn’t bother to hide his derision, though he did wonder briefly about the reason behind the distance between his immediate physical response to be polite and his automatic internal mockery. 

“ _Any_ way,” Lavenza said with a thin-lipped smile, “it seems as though your explorations of Mementos have proven to be fruitful.”

“So _that’s_ what the name of that part of the Metaverse is,” Goro said, making sure that Lavenza knew he was unimpressed with the lack of information he’d been given. 

Lavenza ignored the sharpness in Goro’s tone. “You are ready to learn more now,” she said dismissively, waving her hand aside. “Throughout the Metaverse, there exists more than just Mementos and Shadows that reside there. There are also individual, separate regions which we refer to as _‘Palaces’,_ which house individual Shadows with the form of strong, distorted desires.”

Something about this knowledge felt familiar. “Okay,” Goro said, glancing at Robin Hood. He couldn’t help but wish Robin was inside the room with him—he’d been fairly good company in the hours that Goro had been wandering through what must have been Tokyo, only merged with what appeared to be the fossils of some sort of giant, long-since extinct creature. 

 _I am with thee_ , Robin’s voice rumbled quietly in Goro’s head. 

Lavenza glanced back at Igor, who seemed to be preoccupied with writing or drawing something at the desk outside, then opened the door to the recording booth and stepped in.

Goro’s eyes widened. Throughout the . . . well, however long he’d spent in this damned room, Lavenza had made it abundantly clear that she had no interest in him, and that she was only there temporarily until . . . whatever “rehabilitation” she’d mentioned was complete. 

So she had no reason to come into the room, closer than she needed to. 

Goro put up what he was sure was his most disarming smile. “Is there something you needed, Lavenza?”

Lavenza left her clipboard on the couch and took a seat. “Trickster,” she began. 

_Oh, so have we upgraded from Wanderer?_

“I wish to make a deal with you.” She took a deep breath. “I want you to save _my_ Trickster. He . . . has lost sight of his true self, and I believe you may be the only one able to restore it to him.”

Goro didn’t really know what to think—Lavenza’s request had come completely out of the blue, and it was clearly something she’d taken a lot of time deliberating over. 

“That’s rather sudden for you,” he said simply. “And I’m surprised you’re asking this of me—ah, right . . . but I’m the only one you _can_ ask, aren’t I?” Internally, Goro preened. As much as Lavenza hadn’t liked him, she really did have no choice but to rely on _him_ for a task that was clearly important to her. 

Goro paused to glance at his nails, carefully trying to shift the power balance in the conversation. Lavenza had laid down her conditions clearly, but as long as Goro acted like he had more of a say in the matter, he had more control. 

Now, to go for the offensive. “You referred to this as a deal. What do I gain, here?”

Lavenza met his eyes, her amber ones set with confidence. “What you may regain is your memories—all of the ones you currently lack. Furthermore . . . if you choose to fully unlock the power of the wildcard, you may form bonds that will aid in your journey through the rehabilitation process.”

Goro had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep him from agreeing immediately. As much as he did want his memories back, he couldn’t let himself seem too eager. Plus . . . “There were a few too many _'mays'_ and _'ifs'_ there, don’t you think?”

“Would you rather gain nothing, then, and be left to wander within this realm and Mementos forever?”

So he hadn’t had the upper hand at all—yet at the same time, he had nothing to lose from accepting Lavenza’s deal, whereas she seemed to have no other way to move forward.

“Alright, then,” he said, “It’s a deal.”

* * *

_I am thou, thou art I._

_Thou hast acquired a new vow._

 

_It shall become the bonds of friendship_

_that giveth thee a place in thy world._

 

_With the birth of the Magician Persona,_

_I have obtained the winds of blessing that_

_shall lead to acceptance and freedom._

* * *

In the background, Igor raised a bushy eyebrow. “So it seems that you have found your first social link in Lavenza,” he said appraisingly. “I, too, would wish to make a deal with you, Trickster, but that must wait until you are able to understand your heart better.” 

“Social link?” Goro repeated, fairly sure that there was no way that made grammatical sense.  

“Those whom I refer to as your social links are those with whom you form bonds of trust.”

Goro wasn’t sure why the idea made his stomach twist. “ _First_ social link, you say? I suppose I can take that to mean that I wasn’t very close with many people.” That would actually explain a lot. 

“You would not be mistaken in that regard,” Lavenza said. “The majority of your interactions were superficial at best and were far and few between.” _So at heart, I’m a prick and a loner, it would seem._

“Although . . .” Igor prompted Lavenza to continue. 

“Is he ready for that yet, Master?”

Igor nodded. 

Lavenza sighed. “There was one solid, unbreakable bond that you did form in your heart. That bond . . . was strong enough to keep you tethered to your reality. It is the reason we are able to bring you into the Metaverse and the Velvet Room, rather than you wander around the Sea of Souls for eternity, aimless.”

It clicked. “If everything is as you say . . . the person I formed this bond with is your former Trickster.”

Igor’s permanent grin widened. “Indeed. I believe you see how you stand to gain from this deal now.” 

Igor was right. Goro had absolutely nothing to lose, and quite literally _everything_ to gain. He turned back to Lavenza. “Alright, I accept.” 

Lavenza looked immensely relieved at that. No, not relieved— _grateful_. And somehow, that filled Goro with more satisfaction than all the subtle mockery had. 

What was he, a walking cliche? 

 _It is alright_ , Robin said to him in his head. _’Tis the first time thou shalt walk this path, though this time, thou art not fated to walk alone._  

. . . Goro must have been really, _really_ lonely before he’d lost his memories for that to have made a lump form in his throat from sheer emotion. 

 _Pathetic. Thou art stronger than this, Trickster. As much as you crave acceptance, you forget that you revel in chaos._ This voice definitely didn’t belong to Robin Hood—who seemed, if Goro was reading correctly, fairly exasperated by this new voice. 

“Chaos,” Goro murmured. “Revel in . . . revel in chaos . . .” There was something there, just out of reach. This voice definitely appealed to something buried within Goro’s lost memories. “Chaos, discord . . .” He scrunched his nose, trying not to recall, but to _feel_ what this new voice referred to. 

“Breaking rules . . . disuniformity . . .” He was blabbering, not quite sure where this thought was taking him, but he continued. “Chaos . . . loopholes? No—wait—if I start from . . .”

He could feel Lavenza and Igor staring, but he paid them no heed—not when the new voice at the edge of his consciousness lay waiting; when Robin seemed encouraging. 

“Wildcard,” he mumbled. “Blank card . . . loopholes . . . Joker? No . . . _chaos_ , Goro, think—”

_—tear their rules to shreds—_

“Loki!” 

And just like that, another Persona materialised in the room, just outside the recording studio Goro couldn’t leave.

“Well done, Trickster,” Igor said appraisingly. 

Meanwhile, Lavenza was staring at him, eyes wide. “Did you just say . . . ?”

Goro tilted his head. “Say what?”

Lavenza bit her lip. “Nothing,” she said quietly, but firmly. “But now, you are ready to continue traversing through the Metaverse. As such, it will be slightly more difficult to summon you to the Velvet Room as frequently, so I ask that you place faith in your Personas and the strength of your heart.” 

Goro had absolutely no idea what Lavenza was getting at, but he nodded anyway, watching as she stood and left the room. 

Lavenza smiled at him through the glass, a lot more honestly this time. “Good luck, then, Trickster.”

Once again, Goro felt the world dissolving into familiar ripples as he entered the Metaverse.

* * *

“There are a lot more Shadows here today, aren’t there,” Panther mumbled, scuffing her boot on the pavement. Honestly, she hadn’t gotten used to the new Mementos yet—the one that looked like Shibuya when Japan had merged with Mementos . . . 

She shook her head. They hadn’t made it too far the last time, since all of them had been pretty out of practice, but Futaba had suggested earlier that they try to make it down deeper, where the more . . . _complicated_ Shadows were. 

“Well, yeah, since all of ’em aren’t locked up in that cage all the way down now,” Skull pointed out, spinning his pipe-bar-thing (Ann still had no idea what it was meant to be) in his hands. 

“Right,” Queen affirmed. “If you were referring to the human Shadows. The less humanoid ones seem to have increased quite a bit too,” she said, ambushing one as she spoke, instantly hitting the group of Decarabias that spawned from it with a Flash Bomb.

Noir sighed, watching as they disintegrated on the spot. “We’ve barely made any headway, though . . . say, Oracle, how much longer until we move to the next area?”

Oracle—no longer inside Prometheus—shook her head. “We’ve got a long way to go—ever since we got Mementos of out Yaldabaoth’s control, it just kept expanding. My Mementos scan doesn’t cover as much area, either.” She paused, frowning. “We’re still pretty high up in Aiyatsbus.”

“ _Aiyatsbus?_ Isn’t that, like, the _second_ area?” It had felt like they’d been travelling for hours—Panther didn’t get why it was still taking so long. 

“Yaldabaoth _was_ controlling the Metaverse, was he not?” Fox mused, twirling between his fingers what seemed to be a paintbrush. “Cognition does not seem to be so easily quelled when left to its own devices.” 

“Aptly put, Fox,” Queen agreed. “Though it does lead to a bit of a headache for us . . . until we can get to the nearest rest area, at least,” she sighed.

Skull hummed. “Uh-huh. Still, though, it’s kinda weird without Mona’s Metaverse-y sixth sense thingy, ain’t it?” 

“Eloquent, Skull,” Oracle snickered. 

Panther shook her head, watching as they started to bicker, and Yusuke joined in for no apparent reason. 

Queen sighed. “Okay, how about we split up for now and look around? We’re pretty high up, so there shouldn’t be too much danger in splitting off into pairs.”

“Pairs,” Oracle echoed. “So who’s gonna be with whom?”

Queen ran a hand through her hair. “Typically, I’d think it would be best if you could pair up to defend each other’s weaknesses. That would put me with Noir, and Fox with Panther, but since Mona isn’t here and Oracle doesn’t have any elemental affinities or direct attacks, putting her and Skull on the same team may not prove to be effective . . .”

“So what would you propose, Queen?” Noir asked. 

“Well . . . Panther, Hecate doesn’t have any strong physical skills, right?” 

Panther shook her head. “Hecate’s just healing and fire.”

“Skull, Seiten deals mostly with physical skills, right?”

“That an’ lightning. I don’t got healing either.” 

“Okay, in that case, you two are pairing up. Oracle and I both have heals, and both Noir and Oracle have debuffs, so I think having Oracle and Fox on the same team would be the best fit. Noir and I have both physical and magic skills, so there’s that for us.” Queen looked a little uncertain. 

Panther noticed Noir’s hand falling onto Queen’s shoulder. “I know it’s hard when Joker isn’t here with us to choose the ideal party, but you’re doing well.” 

Queen nodded, saying something in response that Panther didn’t quite catch, then said a little louder, “Though I am worried about those two bickering on the same team . . .”

“Oi, Panther, let’s get going!” Skull’s arm slung casually across her shoulders. 

She nodded eagerly, her ponytails swinging back and forth. “Okay, let’s go!” 

Less than half an hour later, though, her enthusiasm ran dry. “I want something sweeeeeet,” she groaned, for what was probably the fifth time in the last ten minutes. 

“How many hours have we been in here?” Skull grumbled. He’d taken off his mask a short while ago, and was tossing it between his hands. 

“I don’t even know . . . ugh, it’s hard without Joker and Mona here!” She stomped her boot against the floor. “Even when it was just the four of us, Joker would at least keep track of time and everythi—”

“ _Holy crap._ ”

“Don’t interrupt me—!”

“ _Ann_ , are you effin’ seeing this? Look behind you!”

Ann turned around, and promptly froze in shock. 

“ _Shiho?_ ”

Shiho—or, well, Shiho’s _Shadow_ —grinned. “Close your mouth before you catch flies, Ann.”

Panther didn’t even bother to respond—instead, she just leapt at Shiho, tackling her with a hug. 

“Yo,” Skull greeted awkwardly from behind Panther. “Uh.” He glanced at Panther, lowering his voice. “Don’t Shadows typically mean the person’s at least . . . y’know, distorted?”

“Maybe now that’s different, though, since it’s not just distortions we’re seeing? I dunno . . .” Panther mumbled. 

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Shiho said brightly, “but I have seen someone else around here lately. I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I think it was Akira . . .” 

Panther and Skull shared a glance. Of course, it wasn’t new information to them anymore, but for him to have been around so often as to have been seen _multiple_ times?

“I think he made it almost all the way down, actually,” Shiho continued, like she wasn’t delivering a punch to the gut. “I get that you guys were the Phantom Thieves, but . . . it’s still kinda crazy, since all the Shadows down there are a lot more aggressive and powerful.”

“You _know_ about that?” Skull spluttered. 

Shiho looked at them like they were idiots (which, in her defense, they _were_ , but _still_ ). “You two are literally the most unsubtle people I know. Ann, you couldn’t hide something like that from me even if your lips were sewn shut. And Ryuji, don’t get me started on your blabbermouth.”

Skull shuffled his feet. “Still not used to her being this savage again . . .”

Panther didn’t respond, being too preoccupied with thoughts of how nice it was to finally see Shiho go back to her old self, the one that wasn’t ruined by Kamoshida. Of course, there had been therapy—both physio and mental—and Ann had helped her every step of the way. 

Panther looked down. “Um . . . maybe this is a talk we should have in reality instead.” Then, she turned back to Shiho. “Do you know anything else about what Akira’s been doing here?”

Shiho shook her head. “He’s pretty good at staying hidden when he wants to, but the last time he was here, I think he was holding some kind of lightsaber toy . . .” Shiho’s face scrunched up as she tried to recall, and Panther couldn’t help but think it was the cutest expression she’d ever seen on her. 

“Damn it,” Skull muttered. “Then we’re no closer to finding more about him down here than before . . .”

Shiho’s expression grew curious. “What’s going on?”

Panther bit her lip. “You know,” she said slowly, “it’s a long story. How about the three of us talk about it over crêpes this weekend?” 

“Alright, then. See you then, Ann!” Shiho grinned, pecking Panther gently on the cheek. Then, just as she was about to head off, she turned back, throwing a wink Panther’s way. “Loving that outfit on you, by the way.”

Panther froze. 

“Yo, Panther? Dude, you’re turning red as your mask. Let’s, uh, regroup with Queen and the others.”

 Giving him a slight nod was all Panther could do as she tried to hide her face in her hands. 

“So,” Queen asked, addressing the group when they had all returned, “any new information on Akechi?”

. . . Oh, so that was what Panther had been forgetting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!! I know this chapter was a little slow, but things are gonna get _real_ soon! :D  
> Also, I may be a little too fascinated by the idea of Goro having Confidants/social links too, lol
> 
> Goro: "jOkEr? nAh"


	6. Backtrack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where am I? Where are you? What do I mean?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> itsbeen84years.gif
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the break! Real life's got me busy and classes are harder than ever, even online. I was hoping to play Royal, but my whole country's on lockdown so 1) my copy's delivery was delayed indefinitely, and 2) I can't even get a PS4 since the one I was gonna get for my birthday last month is stuck in another city . . .
> 
> Oh well . . .

Somehow, the Palace seemed different from what Goro had expected. Perhaps he was expecting to see something that was similar to Mementos in shape or form, but this . . . this was wholly different. Instead of a pink-red anachronistic fusion of a city and ancient fossils, he found himself standing before what he was very sure was . . . some sort of mine. 

In the back of his mind, Loki hissed, and even Robin recoiled. Goro’s stomach lurched as he stepped in. Something was . . . off here. Was that the distortion? 

Regardless, his guard was up as he walked closer to the mine, ignoring the twisting sensation of dread that pooled in his stomach as he walked closer. 

Half an hour later, Goro was getting bored of just walking. He wasn’t tired, per se—it was hard to get tired when one didn’t have a corporeal form that required sustenance—but no matter how much he walked towards the mine, it still seemed to be the same distance away. _It’s like some sort of mirage . . . based on what Lavenza said, could this be a result of cognition . . . ?_  

Lavenza, Robin, and Loki had all played a hand in trying to explain some of the inner workings of these cognitive worlds to him, and this seemed to apply to this one—when a Palace ruler’s cognition stated that something couldn’t intervene with a certain part of the world, it would form an impossible barrier to break until that cognition was changed. 

So, logically, the ruler of this Palace likely believed that it would be impossible to get to the mine. Or, well, whatever they saw _as_ the mine. 

_What will you do?_ Loki’s voice purred. _You cannot get in like this, but you have the power to force your way through cognition. Will you do it?_  

“I’m at an impasse here,” Goro agreed, “but what would be the effects of breaking in on the ruler’s cognition?”

_Thoughtful as ever_ , Robin appraised, _but for once, I must agree with the impulsive one. You have no way to manually alter the ruler’s cognition in reality—the only reason you are left to wander this realm is because you exist within the Sea of Souls._

“Sea of Souls . . .” Goro echoed. Lavenza and Igor had both mentioned it to him at some point, but they had never exactly explained what it was. He would have to ask the next time he was in the Velvet Room. 

_What do you mean, ‘impulsive’, you knave?_ Loki retorted in response to Robin’s earlier quip. 

_Thou cannot possibly be referring to me as the knave, when thou art the manifestation of a chaos lord—_

“Both of you, please shut up,” Goro cut in, effectively cutting the argument short. “Are you two always like this?”

_Yes_ , Loki said.

Robin said _No._  

Goro sighed, more inclined to believe Loki on this one. 

“If we want to get in, we’ll have to get the Palace ruler’s attention,” he said slowly. “Once they know we’re here, we could probably press forward.”

_And what better way to get attention than to cause chaos?_

“Come, Loki!”

Loki materialised beside Goro, all black and white stripes and patterns, wielding a glowing, translucent red sword. 

A Shadow appeared then, much like the non-human ones he’d seen so many of within Mementos. The only difference was that instead of looking like monkeys from Temple Run, this one was dressed in miner’s garb with giant, chunky science goggles. 

_“Break off its mask!”_ Loki instructed, and Goro followed through, pouncing on the Shadow as it stepped off the minecart, and ripped off the goggles. The Shadow spurted into red and black goo, then transformed into what looked like a winged goat man. 

_It bears a resemblance to Loki_ , Robin snickered. 

“ _Robin_ ,” Goro warned. Then, automatically, he said, “Loki, use Call of Chaos!” 

Immediately, the Shadow frenzied, bucking and kicking wildly, attacking a line of other Shadows that had just gotten off the minecart. Immediately, the Shadows started fighting each other, breaking out into full fledged pandemonium. 

“Think that should be enough to get attention?” Goro asked, somehow feeling a strange thrill from just having made Shadows go feral. Loki laughed as he returned to his place within Goro’s mind. 

Goro’s attention was recaptured by another Shadow 

_Trickster_ , Robin said, this time serious, _it appears as though all these cognitive beings would see you as one of them._

“One of . . . them? You mean . . . I look like a Shadow to them?”

_Precisely. To Shadows and cognitions, you appear as an extremely strong Shadow. It is only beings in their undistorted forms that will be able to see you as you see yourself. However . . . I am unsure if this applies to the Palace’s ruler as well._

“What do you mean?” Goro tried to wrack his brain, something tugging on the edge of his memories. “If a Palace is a manifestation of its ruler’s cognition, I suppose I wouldn’t be a part of that cognition . . .” he said slowly. “So the other Shadows would see me as Shadows, but does that mean that the ruler would see me as I am, as well as people from reality?”

_People with contracts to Personas. Those from reality would be affected by the distortions as well_ , Robin corrected. 

_All these Shadows are wanderers from the Sea of Souls as well_ , Loki added. _They have no individuality, no identity. Some words will resonate with them, others will not, but they are not like you. You are unique, you are special._  

Goro preened. “I _am_ , I suppose. People typically don’t get second chances after death, after all.” 

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?” 

Goro turned sharply to the source of the bellow—it was a female Shadow that emanated power, clearly the ruler of the Palace. She had short black hair that was held into a bun with a pencil, with her fringe pinned away from her face, and wore a white lab coat over what looked like the same miner garb that all the other Shadows wore. 

But what was most prominent were her piercing yellow eyes, not obscured in the slightest by the thick glasses on her face, her gaze surveying the area with an eerie calm. 

Something about the fact that she’d been so loud without looking like she’d shouted put Goro on edge. 

The Shadow sighed, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “All of you, get back to work. We’re _extremely_ close to making a breakthrough here.” 

Abashed, the Shadows straightened themselves, instantly turning back towards the minecarts that would take them into the mine. 

_Here’s my chance_ , Goro decided, discreetly following after the ruler, immediately wishing that whatever fancy prep school uniform he was wearing could be traded for more stealthy attire. 

_All you needed to do was ask_ , Loki chuckled in his mind, and blackness enveloped Goro until he was left in a skintight outfit covered in belts, and his head was encased in a black helmet and a translucent glass mask, both of which ended in a sharp point at his nose. 

But, while the outfit looked stealthy, the transformation did not. The Palace ruler’s Shadow turned around immediately, eyes narrowing at the pillar behind which Goro was. “Who’s there?” she demanded, stalking closer. Her heels clicked on the stone floor as she approached. 

Figuring there was no point in hiding, Goro stepped out from behind the pillar. His face was completely hidden; there was no way she would be able to recognise him. 

She stared intently at him, making Goro shift a little in discomfort. Something about her gaze made him feel like she was picking him apart completely. Even Loki and Robin fell quiet. 

Then a smile spread across her face. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you here, Goro-kun!”

He froze. Did she know him? How? And for how long? Had he been here before, to this very Palace? Or did she know him in his real life from before? No, his face was _obscured_ ; she must have recognised the outfit somehow. And . . . why did it feel so weird to hear his first name? “H-how do you . . .” he straightened. “ _Who are you?_ ”

She frowned. “You don’t remember me?”

“I can’t say I remember much of anything, really . . .” Goro bit his lip. “I have amnesia,” he said curtly. He didn’t feel like it was safe to reveal too much, not when this woman seemed so suspicious. 

Not that there was much he _could_ reveal. 

The woman looked at him with what looked like genuine concern. “Follow me, Goro-kun,” she said softly. “I can help you with that. You can trust me, okay?” she said, reaching to pat him over his helmet. “I promise we’ll get your memories back.”

Figuring there wasn’t much else to do, Goro followed her into the mine. 

* * *

_I am thou, thou art I._

_Thou hast acquired a new vow._

 

_It shall become the bonds of friendship_

_that giveth thee a place in thy world._

 

_With the birth of the Hierophant Persona,_

_I have obtained the winds of blessing that_

_shall lead to acceptance and freedom._

* * *

“So,” the Shadow said gently, “do you still have Robin’s outfit?”

Goro recoiled. She knew about Robin Hood? And that his Personas gave him different outfits? How—?

“I suppose you wouldn’t remember how I know,” she said, nodding as though she’d read his mind. “I’m actually a cognitive psience researcher, and you were one of my subjects.”

He was . . . what? A _research subject?_ Then how did _that_ correlate with his heart looking like a recording studio? What relevance would _acting_ and false niceties have if he was a research subject? And who could have been the person he’d formed that bond with?

Also, there was the irrefutable fact that the idea of him being a research subject was _entirely_ screwed up, but Goro was willing to shelve that away for later.

For the first time since meeting the Shadow, Robin spoke up in his mind. _If you want answers, you must find them for yourself._

“My sole interest is uncovering the truth,” Goro said, the words coming to him automatically. 

And just like that, the stealthy, constricting black outfit was replaced with a blinding white and red ensemble, looking more like it belonged to an idol or a prince. 

“Just as bright as I remember,” the Shadow cooed. 

It was definitely more comfortable than the other outfit, especially with the softer material and the fact that it didn’t feel like it was made from bulletproof armour. “How much . . . do you know about me?” he asked, still wary. “You said you research cognitive psience, and that I was your subject—so have you seen my cognitions as well?” 

The Shadow laughed a quiet, gentle laugh, and she laid a hand upon his head, patting it gently. “I’ll explain it to you, don’t worry. Just follow me, okay?”

Intrigued, Goro agreed. 

* * *

Akira woke up with tears staining his pillow. Again. For the same reason as it always was.

He missed Akechi. 

It was silly, on some level. He’d barely known Akechi for a few months—hell, had he really ever known him at all?

Something akin to twisted guilt and terror gripped him. He’d thought—he’d thought—he’d thought that he’d _bonded_ with Akechi, almost every time they met. 

In retrospect, everything about Akechi felt _inevitable_. 

Even his death, maybe. 

Akira didn’t know what to think. His mind seemed to be wandering everywhere and nowhere, to the point where he was genuinely attempting to get into his own Palace, MetaNav or not, just so he could understand _what_ his mind was trying to get at. 

Other than pining for _Goro Akechi_ , of all people. 

Was pining the wrong word? It was more like drowning in a sea of guilt and regret, clinging to a halfhearted wish that he could have spent time to understand him, to maybe show him that there were people who would care about and accept him; that _Akira_ cared about and accepted him. 

Okay, no, pining was _definitely_ the right word. 

Akira didn’t want to think about the implications of that. 

He pulled out his phone to text Ryuji to ask if there were any training regimens he knew of that could allow him to literally run into the Metaverse—

Right, he wasn’t talking to Ryuji now, was he?

He missed Ryuji, too. And his other friends. 

Akira still hadn’t spoken to any of them; hadn’t seen any of their faces outside of his contacts list since that day at Leblanc. 

Morgana was the only one whose presence felt comforting now—almost like he was an emotional support animal for Akira. 

His phone buzzed again—this time, not from the Phantom Thieves group chat, but a text from Iwai. 

> **Munehisa Iwai [Gun Dad]**
> 
> **_Yo kid_ **
> 
> **_Heard youre back in town_ **
> 
> **_Swing by the shop when ya_ ** **_  
> _ ** **_can_ **
> 
> **_Kaoru’d like ya to drop in too_ **

Akira couldn’t help but smile—it had been a while since he’d spoken to Kaoru. They’d occasionally have video calls, but given that Kaoru had just started high school at the time, he’d been busy trying to adjust to Shujin. 

Kaoru wouldn’t judge him for having a Palace, Akira figured. 

Well, not that Kaoru would ever know anything about it.

Akira got up, stretched, and showered. Showering in the morning wasn’t a luxury he’d been able to afford the last time he was here, in Tokyo—living in Leblanc meant he could only use the bathhouse in Yongen-Jaya, which pretty much eliminated any possibility of bathing in the mornings. 

By the time Akira was putting on his shoes to leave, Morgana had long since been awake. “Where are you going?”

Akira shrugged a shoulder. “Untouchable. Iwai sent me a text and there’s something I want to check with him.” He glanced at the silencer on the table, sighed, then dumped it into his bag, along with Akechi’s ray gun. 

“What’s that?”

“Gun silencer. You coming, Mona?”

“ _Why_ do you have a gun silencer with you!” 

Akira couldn’t fight the wistful smile that formed on his face. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Morgana looked away guiltily, but fell into stop beside Akira as he shut the door behind him and the two headed out. 

“This isn’t the way to the station,” Morgana pointed out, narrowly avoiding a boot to his tail. 

Akira immediately scooped him up. “I’m gonna stop by the Todai campus on the way. Classes are gonna start in about a week, so I’m gonna go check out some of the textbooks and stuff I need.”

“Human stuff is weird,” Morgana said decidedly, burrowing further into Akira’s hold.

“You wouldn’t be wrong about that,” Akira agreed, dropping a light kiss onto the fur on Morgana’s head. Damn, the cat knew he had Akira wrapped around his little toe beans.

He was lucky he’d gotten an apartment that was close to the university—he was able to reach the campus within ten minutes of brisk walking, especially since it was so close to the station. All the money he’d made from pillaging Shadows and Palaces the last time he’d been in Tokyo had made it easy for him to buy his own apartment with a little input from his parents. 

Akira wondered if they just wanted to get rid of him, just like his friends had. Just because they hadn’t talked about his record when he’d gotten back home didn’t mean that they hadn’t held it against him. 

Akira almost wished he’d chosen to go abroad for university; his English was decent enough for him to get by, and his grades were plenty good for an average foreign university. Instead, he’d chosen to stay in Tokyo so he could _finally_ see his friends again. 

But _noooo_ , he’d just found out that for _some damned reason_ he had a _Palace_ because somehow, the _Metaverse_ was back now. Because of that, the people he’d once have trusted with his _life_ thought he was some _vile monster_ that needed to be punished. 

To hell with them. They didn’t even know his keywords. _He_ didn’t even know his keywords. 

“Ah, excuse me— Akira!” A voice that was unmistakably Yusuke’s cut through Akira’s thoughts. Instinctively, he tugged Morgana closer, ignoring the artist trailing behind him. 

“Yusuke?” Morgana asked, ears pricking up. 

“Morgana, not now, _please_ ,” Akira begged, ducking into a side alley to slip out of Yusuke’s sight. _I forgot that Ann and Yusuke’s university is nearby as well . . ._

Both Ann and Yusuke had applied and gotten into Tokyo’s University of the Arts; Ann for her acting and Yusuke for his art. 

> **Yusuke Kitagawa [F0X]**
> 
> **akira, i know you’re arounf** **  
> ** **here somewherw**
> 
> **there is a matter of great** **  
> ** **urgebcy that i would like** **  
> ** **to dicuss wirh you**
> 
> **i am making tyois in my** **  
> ** **haste**
> 
> ***typos**

Akira was so tempted to open the chat and reply. Amongst all the former Phantom Thieves, Yusuke had always been the one most willing to listen to and understand Akira, too. 

But Akira still didn’t want to talk to him—not after he’d been _in_ on meeting up without him. 

> **Yusuke Kitagawa [F0X]**
> 
> **also, you promised sushi**
> 
> **and i haven’t eaten lunch** **  
> ** **for a few days**

Well, no matter _how_ hurt Akira was, he couldn’t let Yusuke _starve_.

> **Yusuke Kitagawa [F0X]**
> 
> **_I’m outside the todai campus_ **
> 
> **then i’ll see you in a few** **  
> ** **minutes.**
> 
> **furthermore, there is an** **  
> ** **additional matter of** **  
> ** **curiousity which we must** **  
> ** **speak about**
> 
> ***curiosity**
> 
> **are crows native to japan?**

Akira froze. Was . . . was Yusuke starting to remember? Of course, knowing Yusuke, the mention of crows could have been entirely coincidental. But . . . it was a little _too_ in line with the fact that Akechi had been the only thing that Akira’s attention would catch on to. 

But then again, Yusuke wasn’t the kind to be subtle or beat around the bush; he was direct and straightforward to the point where he was blunt. 

There had to be _something_ going on—was Igor giving the others their memories back? Akira wished he knew—he barely knew anything about this Igor, the real one—because then at least he would have _something_ to go off of. 

Something to think about other than his Palace and Akechi. 

“Akira!” Yusuke called out, drawing his attention. Morgana leaped out of Akira’s arms and yowled something about living daylights

Akira’s eyes snapped up to meet Yusuke’s, grey meeting deep blue. “Yusuke,” he said quietly, shifting his gaze away. “I’m . . . gonna be right back, I actually came to sort something out here,” he mumbled, wishing he’d worn his glasses today as he slipped into the campus, leaving Morgana out with Yusuke. 

Akira took a few moments to calm down. He wasn’t expecting to see Yusuke again so soon, especially knowing that he and the others were likely trying to get into his Palace. He didn’t really _want_ to have to see Yusuke so soon. 

_Liar_ , said another voice inside him. 

He ignored it, opting to try to talk to the woman in the admin office without letting his agitation seep through. 

By the time he finished up and had gathered himself enough to step outside, Morgana and Yusuke were on a bench outside, eating what looked a lot like the Pretz that Akira had put in his bag earlier. 

Taking a deep breath, he approached the two. “So . . . sushi?”

Yusuke sprung up off the bench, eyes practically shining, Morgana using the momentum as a springboard to leap onto Akira’s shoulders. 

As it turned out, neither Akira nor Yusuke actually had enough money on hand for an actual sushi place . . . which brought them to a small conveyor belt sushi restaurant in Shibuya. 

“As you know,” Yusuke said, starting the conversation (since it was clear that Akira wouldn’t), “I was able to get a scholarship admission to Tokyo Geidai.”

“Congrats,” Akira said quietly. 

“But it turns out that the dorms there need to be paid for in advance.”

And Yusuke, of course, was dead broke. Akira turned to face him. “So what did you do?”

“It’s quite the interesting story, actually,” Yusuke said, smiling halfway. “I decided to talk to Kawanabe-san and ask him if he knew what course of action would be most apt.”

“What did he say?” Morgana popped his head out of Akira’s bag, snatching a shrimp nigiri off Akira’s plate. 

“Well, as it turned out, before Kawanabe-san and Madarame fell out of contact—” Yusuke took a bite of ginger, “—Madarame had entrusted Kawanabe with his will.”

“So . . . he left his things to you?” Akira ventured a guess. 

“He did. According to Kawanabe-san, there were some legal complications, given that the money was generated through scams, but no one who bought any of the counterfeit _Sayuri_ s were willing to admit to it, so Kawanabe-san pulled a few strings, visited Madarame in jail, and, well . . .”

Akira nodded, encouraging him to continue. 

“Legally, all of his possessions will be left to me when I turn twenty, but until then, Madarame will be paying for any tuition issues that aren’t covered by my scholarship, such as food and room. They suggested I get a credit card, but Kawanabe-san vetoed the idea and said that he would appropriate the funds for me. Quite nice of him, don’t you think?”

“Definitely,” Akira agreed. What he didn’t say was that Kawanabe had the right idea, given that the moment Yusuke saw some art supplies he liked, he’d blow all the funds in one go and leave nothing for his actual wellbeing. 

Despite everything, Yusuke still hadn’t learned how to spend his money in a way that was _healthy_. 

Then again, Akira had almost bought Akechi a bangle once that cost ¥78,000, so he didn’t really have much room to talk—but at least he knew better than to let himself starve to buy things.

He wondered if Akechi would have kept the bangle if he’d gotten it for him. 

“So you’re gonna be staying on campus?” Morgana asked, this time swiping a piece of ginger. 

“That is right,” Yusuke affirmed. “We’ll be quite close to one another. Ann and Makoto as well.”

“Mmm.” Akira didn’t say more. 

Morgana poked his head out of the bag again. “Where were you staying after school ended, then?”

“Oh, Boss allowed me to stay in the attic in Leblanc after I graduated from Kosei,” he said nonchalantly. 

Something inside Akira coiled and twisted. That had been—that had been _his_ space. _Akira_ had worked to make himself home there; had cleaned it when it was little more than a dusty old dump, had tidied the books and shelves and the worktable, had brought trinkets from outing with his confidants. It was where he’d been at _home_ here in Tokyo. 

No _wonder_ they were all meeting at Leblanc without him. Clearly, they didn’t associate Leblanc with _Akira_ anymore. 

“Akira,” Yusuke said, his voice a little quieter now, “why have you been avoiding us?”

Something inside Akira flared. “Well, I don’t know, maybe because you guys are meeting _without_ me? Talking about how _messed up_ I must be, to have a Palace?” _Taking every single thing from me that used to be_ mine _?_

“What?” Yusuke seemed offended. “Do you _really_ think that we were _talking behind your back_ , of all things?”

“Why _else_ would you want to meet up without me? You guys don’t _need_ me anymore! Shiho’s better now and Ann doesn’t need to talk to me anymore. Ryuji’s getting physiotherapy for his leg and you’re finally getting the financial security and care you need. Haru’s been able to manage her company well, and Futaba’s finally been able to come out of her shell. And Makoto’s managing just fine as the leader, too. I don’t even have my Persona anymore—not even _one_ . I’m—I’m _worthless_ now, Yusuke. There’s nothing I can _do_ for you guys anymore, there’s no _reason_ for you guys to even want me around.” _And Akechi is_ dead _, because I’m incompetent! Dead, completely forgotten. Because of ME. And there’s nothing I can do to compensate!_  

Akira didn’t even realise he was shaking until Morgana laid a paw on his thigh. 

Yusuke said, “Why would we need a reason to want you around?”

Akira didn’t know how to answer that. If he had nothing to offer, why _did_ they want him there? He didn’t know. 

“Tell me, Akira, what was it that _I_ offered you in _exchange_ for friendship?”

Akira thought back to two years ago, when Yusuke had first joined the Phantom Thieves after defeating Madarame. He’d asked Akira to join him in Mementos when he first painted _Desire_ , and then . . . “Skill cards,” Akira blurted out, regretting the words the second they were out of his mouth. 

“ _Skill cards?_ ” Yusuke echoed, appalled. “So this entire time, has it just been a matter of give and take for you? Just a deal of convenience?”

Akira didn’t know what to say. He _did_ care about Yusuke, about _all_ his confidants—

_Confidants? Not even friends?_ “I—I’m sorry, I, I didn’t mean it like—”

“Then tell me how you _did_ mean it, Akira.”

Akira hung his head. “I . . .” He stood up abruptly, left enough money on the table to cover both his and Yusuke’s portion of the meal and then some, and got out as fast as he could. 

Neither Yusuke nor Morgana followed him, but he could practically feel their gazes boring into him. Too late, he realised he never got to ask about Crow.

* * *

Stepping into Untouchable was like finding a safe room in a Palace. The majority of the tension built from that impromptu meeting with Yusuke eased when he saw Iwai at the counter, chewing on a lollipop stick and leaning over a newspaper. 

“Yo,” he greeted. 

Iwai looked up, and grinned. “S’been a while, kiddo.” He reached over and ruffled Akira’s hair, then frowned. “Something bothering ya?”

Akira didn’t want to talk about it. “I don’t really . . .”

“I won’t push you.” Iwai raised a model gun, scrutinising it carefully—had he just finished customising it? Probably. “But,” he continued, holding up the gun as if to aim it, “if you’re having problems with anyone, I wouldn’t mind scaring ’em off for ya.”

He wondered if Iwai could scare his friends away from his Palace. Maybe his cognition could? Then again, that would require the Phantom Thieves getting _into_ his Palace in the first place . . .

And after what he’d said to Yusuke, that was probably the _last_ thing he wanted. Akira sighed, then glanced at Iwai—looking back, even his relationship with Iwai was founded upon a deal: in return for helping Iwai with the shop and the Hashiba Clan, Iwai allowed him to have specially customised guns at a cheaper price. 

Was he really that shallow?

He sighed, pushing it aside. “I’m alright. Just readjusting to the city.” His bag felt heavy with the gun, as though it was literally weighing him down. “Say . . . Iwai, do you know anything about where this could have come from?” Akira took the silencer out and passed it to him. 

Iwai frowned, scrutinising it carefully. “This looks like it’s made for police issued firearms,” he said. “The real deal. How’d you get your hands on it?”

“I, uh, found it?” 

Iwai squinted at him. “Even cops themselves can’t take them out without warrants and signs.” He frowned, then sighed. “Don’t get yourself into situations you’ll regret. And don’t get caught with it on you, or you’ll get into massive trouble.”

_Akechi had had it on him even when he died . . . ? How did he get it in the first place? Did Shido give it to him? Or was it someone associated with the police force?_

“Say, didn’t you have a cat?”

Akira jumps a little. “Uh— yeah, he didn’t feel like coming around here today.” 

“Cats can be pretty independent,” Iwai agreed. “Well, come on, Kaoru’s waiting for us at the diner.” Iwai dropped the silencer back into Akira’s hands, gesturing for him to follow. 

Akira nodded as he dropped the silencer into his (currently cat-less) bag and followed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, some PROGRESS! Yay! Should I be posting fic in physics class? Who knows? Hope you enjoyed~

**Author's Note:**

> If you're enjoying so far, feel free to join my writing [Discord server](https://discord.gg/9zF5Ynt) and/or talk to me on [Tumblr](https://my-colour-undiminished.tumblr.com)~

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [remember me please](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21540772) by [Grilled_Koi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grilled_Koi/pseuds/Grilled_Koi)




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